The Prison
by bnburke90
Summary: Life at the prison is suddenly changed when a new woman arrives. Her survival skills become a huge asset, but will her strong personality - and loyalties - hinder the group? Daryl/OC - Leave a review after you read :)
1. Chapter 1: The Newcomer

Prologue  
Biters. Everywhere. My last few weeks are amounting to nothing. Ever since I left my safe house and struck out on my own, I've had a bad feeling. Vaguely I wonder how many miles I've travelled since my car broke down. Ten? Twenty? How many miles can one walk in four days when they're short on food? I thought I could handle it. After all, this was supposed to be just like a never-ending hunting trip. Snag some animals with my bow, camp out in trees, and kill some geeks along the way. But I didn't realize how scarce the animals would be.

Or how numerous the biters.

I hear a loud bang, and turn my head sharply to the left. I quickly dart to a nearby tree, and press my back flush against it. I whip my head around to all sides, satisfied I'm in no immediate danger. Several biters to my now right have already started moping towards the gun shot.

People! It has been so long since I've seen people! And now, here they are, somewhere to my right. Without even thinking about it, I regain my hunting crouch, arrow already nocked on my bow, and head towards them.

Chapter One: The Newcomer  
Rick looks out over the fields, a pleased smile hinting at his lips. The vegetables are growing, the pigs are growing, and the prison fields haven't been breached in weeks. He hears the crunch of footsteps behind him, and turns to see Daryl. Rick nods his head in greeting before facing the fields again. Daryl steps up beside him.

"The build up's not goin' away. Don't know how many walkers I killed. Tyreese and the others, too. It's like a steady stream. Old ones die, new ones come," he states bluntly, readjusting his crossbow on his shoulder. He's wearing grey jeans, a dull orange t-shirt, and his leather jacket. Rick looks over to the right fence; sees the walkers he's been trying to block out. He's no longer smiling. A grim look claims his face.

"I don't know what more we can do. Those fences won't hold forever, but we've got nowhere else to go. All we can do is fortify." Rick glances down at his work boots and grey flannel shirt, slightly stained with some blood. He scratches his rough chin stubble in frustration.

Daryl, about to respond, is cut short by sudden shouts of alarm. The two look over to the gate to see Carl opening the exterior wooden doors, closing them, and ordering Sasha to open the outer chain link. Walkers swarm the outside of the gate, and Rick bears no hesitation taking off towards the fences. Daryl follows closely behind, muttering curses, tearing up the dirt road.

The scene at the gate is in utter confusion. Two of the perimeter guards, both survivors of Woodbury, start rigorously impaling the walkers at the gates through the fences. Meanwhile, Sasha is crouching next to a woman sitting on the ground. She's smeared with dirt and dark blood, her hair in a messy ponytail. Carl stands further back, gun pointing at the ground but ready for any sudden movements from the stranger.

"What happened?" Daryl demands, taking charge.

"I saw her outside of the gate. She was dodging walkers, running like hell for the gate. I had to let her in," Carl explains. Sasha nods.

"It's true. She looked pretty desperate," she says.

Daryl scrutinizes the woman, taking in the bow lying next to her along with a large hunting knife. Rick speaks directly to her.

"What's your story?" She's still gasping, hand clenching her side.

"Warehouse... Stubborn bastard... Months ago..."" her voice starts fading, her eyelids begin to close.

"She's fainting!" Sasha exclaims suddenly, full of alarm.

"Got her," Daryl says, scooping the woman up before jogging back towards the prison. She hangs limply from his arms.

"Take her to the medical wing!" Sasha calls after him. Rick watches the two go before turning his attention back to Sasha and Carl.

"I'll take her weapons to the armory. Don't say anything about this until we get it sorted out. Got it?" he says with piercing authority. The others nod. They are just as shocked by what has occurred as he is.

Hershel closes the door to the medical room with satisfaction. The exhausted, malnourished woman has awoken and eaten - a lot. At least her appetite is still there, he thinks positively. He carries her folder with him down the hall before turning into the Council's board room. The rest of the Council has already assembled, and Rick, who's been slowly integrating back into the Prison's leadership, has briefed them on what happened earlier that day at the gate.

"How's she doin'?" Maggie immediately asks. Hershel holds up a hand to stem the questions before heaving himself into a seat.

"The girl is awake and healthy. Heart is stable. Fever's gone. Seems her only problem was exhaustion and hunger," he says in his calm, deep voice.

"So what exactly happened to her?" Glenn asks.

"She suffered from a mild faint due to her exhaustion, but nothing serious. She probably hasn't slept more than ten hours the past three days. From the look of her I'd say she's been hiking in the woods for at least a week now; the kind of stress associated with that much risk is overwhelming. She's too weak for any heavy exertion, but she's ready to be up and moving."

"Now that we know she's okay, we need to decide what to do with her," Rick says after a brief silence, stating what was on everyone's mind. They are quiet for awhile before Carol speaks.

"We all know what to do. Ask her the three questions, and if she's okay, she can get a cell. There are plenty of empty ones in D, and a few in C."

"I can take her to the target range. See if she's any good with that bow," Daryl adds. Rick nods in agreement.

"Sounds good. Maybe she could be useful on runs. Didn't you say she had some guns, too?" he asks Hershel.

"Yes," he said, consulting his notes. "A .45 Colt in a waist hostler and a rifle slung across her back beneath her hunting coat. The coat is great quality, too, waterproof and insulated. She was probably a hunter; her arrows had traces of blood on all of them."

"Sounds like a great find," Carol says. "We can definitely use another like Daryl." The rest of the group mutters agreement, causing Daryl to roll his eyes and mumble something about being just like everyone else.

"Well, it's settled, then. I'll ask her the three questions now while she's awake, and you all should see to getting her a cell. I trust you'll back my opinion of her answers?" The Council agrees. "Good. I'll bring her around later." Hershel concludes the status update, getting to his feet with a grunt. Carol and Maggie instantly leave to clean out a cell in Block C, where most of the original prison group is, opting to keep close tabs on the potential asset.

Hershel returns to the patient's room, pleased to see her awake.

"How am I doing, doc?" she inquires politely.

"Glad to see you're recovering well," he replies before sitting in the bedside, foldable chair. "You don't have anything serious; just need some rest and food. Which my people will supply until you're healthy." He notices a steely look in her eyes, and stops to hear what she has to say.

"I was actually wondering if there was any space here for me. I can be a big help! Trust me, I can hunt and I work well in teams. Plus, I've had plenty of experience out there," she tumbles over her words, hurrying to reassure him.

"Don't worry, we are considering you. We just have to ask you three questions. One, how many walkers have you killed?"

Immediately, her face twists into a thoughtful grimace. "I don't even know. Countless. I kept track, before, when I was at my old safe house. More of a sanity thing than anything else. But I gave that up a long time ago. I try not to think of them as dead people." Hershel nods his head thoughtfully.

"Okay. Thank you. Two, how may people have you killed?" He throws the question out so casually, she starts in surprise.

"I-I... Uh.." she stares at the floor, wide-eyed, collecting her thoughts. "Okay, then. I've killed fifteen total." Hershel gives her a moment before continuing.

"Last question may be hard for you to answer, but I want you to try and be honest. Why did you kill them?" Her face darkens, displays a mixture of angry memories, guilt, and sadness.

"Back when it started, I was with five other hunters - three males and two females. We took over a warehouse from a group, fortified it, and made it a safe house. The twenty we took it from weren't infected; they were just trying to survive like we were. Those are the only kills I regret; I took out eleven of them. We murdered innocent men and women. Afterwards, I killed a hunter from my group who threatened me. That's why I left. He was an arrogant asshole. Along the way I've killed three others, each a person who threatened me. I'm not the same person I was when I stole that warehouse. I think the experience made me realize how important maintaining our morals is."

Hershel keeps his face composed throughout her account, impressed by her honesty. He was put off by her murdering streak, but believes her when she said she had changed.

"I appreciate your honesty. I believe you'll make a fine addition to our group. You have a good sense of right and wrong, you seem honest, and you have a level head. I'll take you to your room now, if you'd like." She smiles in relief, and swings her legs over the bed. Her backpack is lying next to the bed, along with her hunting jacket and hiking boots. The pack only contained a few other shirts, some water purifier, basic first aid, and her gloves. At least it did before she fainted. She was wearing a clean t-shirt and jeans that Beth had put on her. She grabbed her things possessively.

"My name's Andy, by the way," she says, turning to offer a dazzling smile.

"I'm Hershel."

"Pleasure to meet you, doc." She takes his hand in a firm handshake, ecstatic and safe for the first time in weeks.


	2. Chapter 2: A New Start

I walk next to Hershel, our feet ringing out on the steel prison floor. Seeing the hallway for the first time, I glance around, noticing it's bareness.

"Hershel," I begin, struck by a sudden question, "mind if I ask you something?"

"You're a part of this group now. You can ask anything you want."

"Who's in charge?"

"We have a Council of the original group who took this prison. We cleared the walkers and fought several battles - including those with other people. We make all of the decisions together. Sasha, Daryl, and Rick, the people you saw at the gates, are all on the Council."

"Okay... Then who do I talk to about getting my weapons?" I ask, making a point to watch his reaction. His eyes widen, telling me he was neither expecting this nor equipped to answer it.

"I'm not sure. I think you should ask Daryl or Rick." I bob my head and face forward, back to studying the prison.

Eventually, by way of several steel-barred doors, we reach Cell Block C. I follow Hershel as he leads me up a set of stairs, past the curious looks of several people. I keep my shoulders straight, radiating confidence as I tail Hershel until he stops outside of a cell with two people inside.

"This is where you'll stay. Maggie and Carol cleared it out just for you," he says, gesturing to the two women who stepped out of the cell. Maggie is young with short brown hair and a strong face. Carol looks around ten years older than I, with short grey hair and delicate features.

"Most of the Council sleeps here, so you should be able to find us if you need to. You'll meet them all later tonight at dinner. We eat meals all together as a group. For now this cell belongs only to you, but we might move in a roommate."

I step inside, ducking under the pinned back sheets that could close to create a makeshift door. I place my bag on the ground next to my bed and sit on the grey mattress, surprised to find how comfortable it is.

I guess anything is comfortable after sleeping in the woods for weeks.

"Dinner will be in a half hour. Don't go wandering off just yet. Least not until we give you a full tour. We eat in a courtyard attached to Block D and Block C; just follow the others to it." Hershel turns around and walks off, ending my brief welcome. As he leaves, I notice a gleam of metal along one of his shins. Curious, I watch how he hobbles along. He must have a fake leg. Hmm... I wonder if he had that before the world went to shit. Oh well, I can ask him about it later. For the time being, I just lean back and rest my eyes, reveling my thin mattress, grey sheets, and pillow.

I am jostled out of my stupor by the sound of boots pounding along the metal floor. Must be time for dinner. I hop out of bed and pull my camo hunting jacket on - I fall asleep in my boots. While I plod after the others, I check my pockets for my matches, snare wire, throwing knife, ammo, and other survival tools I keep separate from my pack. I'm aggravated to find them gone, but I understand why they took them; now that I'm a part of the group I should contribute everything I can.

The thought brings me up short. I continue walking, but I stare at the ground, following the others while deep in thought.

I left a fairly sizable weapons cache back where I pulled my car off of the roadway when it broke down. I should have told the Council immediately, but I hid the weapons. There's no way they could find it without me.

Besides, I want to wait until I'm healthy and can go on the retrieval mission.

I decide to wait until I'm one hundred percent healthy, and, satisfied by my decision, I turn my attention back to the present as I step into the courtyard.

The dinner fare is simple and bland, but I eat it all enthusiastically. We wait until everyone's done, and I make conversation with those around me. I learn that they came from another settlement called Woodbury, run by a man who called himself the Governor. Apparently, they were at war with the prison, until the Governor went crazy and shot his own men. He's been missing ever since, and the prison group, feeling no resentment towards the Woodbury citizens, brought them in. I'm about to share my own story when I hear Daryl call for attention from the Council's table. Once everyone's quiet, Hershel steps forward.

He seems to be the go-to, reasonable mouth piece.

"Today, as some of you probably noticed, we welcomed a new member into our group," he begins, causing others to look around for the unknown person. "Her name is Andy, and she came in our gates this morning in a state of exhaustion and malnourishment." he gestures towards me, and I feel the weight of many eyes. "She is healthy now, and we believe her skills will help us greatly." He starts to wrap it up, but is surprised when I stand.

"I just wanted to thank all of you for opening up for me," I say, looking at everyone's face. I notice Daryl and Rick exchange a look before watching me intently. "I've been traveling for weeks now, months even, and I've come across plenty of other settlements. However, I've never felt this secure. As you've noticed, I don't speak with the same southern as most of you. I came from a suburb outside of Indianapolis, Indiana. I travelled this far because I've been waiting for a nonhostile place to settle down. I believe I've found it.

"I'm going to try and prove myself to all of you; it's the way I was taught to say thank you. I look forward to it." I conclude and sit back down, looking over to Hershel. He and several others behind him are nodding, seemingly impressed by my words. Daryl looks surprised, mirroring how I feel. I didn't plan to speak up, but then again, I've always acted on impulses. It gets me into trouble plenty of times, but it also helps me.

After Hershel finishes speaking, going on to say things about various chores that need to be handled, I notice some more admiration from my fellow group members. I carry my empty plate over to the dirty plates bin with a small smile on my face, happy to be accepted so warmly.

That night, staring at the bottom of the bunk above mine, I lean back in bliss.  
It's a long ways from perfect, but it's the closest I've been in a long time.


	3. Chapter 3: Weapons

I sit in my cell, wide awake with nothing to do. I've just eaten breakfast and vigorously washed my face with cold water, deciding to leave my naturally straight hair down. I study myself in the mirror curiously. It has been three days since I joined the prison, and I am already back to my original strength. Well, the strength I had when I first left my car. I haven't gained all of my curves I had before the end of the world, but I don't expect to. My clear blue eyes sparkle, however, complimenting my glossy, dark brown hair. I'm a little taller than average, and lean with wiry hunter's muscles. I'm wearing a light grey, v-neck t-shirt, dark blue jeans, and my hiking boots.

"Andy," I hear Daryl say, pushing apart my curtains and startling me. "It's time we go to the range." I rise from my foldable chair angrily.

"Excuse me but you could knock!" I state accusingly, folding my arms over my chest.

"Er... What?" he stammers.

"This is a woman's room," I say as if my meaning is obvious. He still looks confused. "I could've been changing. Or just wanted privacy! You can't just go barging into people's rooms!" Daryl rolls his eyes sarcastically.

"Right, I'm so sorry that I may have interrupted your lady things." I flush; half angry, half embarrassed.

"I didn't mean.. Oh never mind," I say petulantly.

"Okay, enough of that. Do you want to go to the range or not? I really want to see how you handle that pretty bow of yours. The throwin' knife, too."

"Yes! I haven't done anything in days," I reply happily, spinning around and bending down to pick my jacket up off of the floor. I can feel Daryl checking me out, and I smile at myself, pleased. Flattery is never not okay.

"Right, speaking of which," he says, clearing his throat, "how are you feeling strength wise." I spin back around, pulling on my jacket, more serious now.

"I feel one hundred percent. You'll see when we get to the range."

To get to the range all I had to do was exit to the courtyard where meals were eaten, however, instead of turning left I turned right. To the left were the front yards and gates, but to the right was a much smaller field cordoned off for a shooting range, some more vegetable gardens, and a laundry/dishes area. The shooting range was fairly used, but extensive. There were standard targets for guns, two hay bales for bows and crossbows, and some dummies for knife throwing or more realistic gun and bow training. Each target had marks ten yards apart up to sixty, all that fit in the space.

"I've brought your bow and throwin' knife out here already," Daryl says as we come to a stop thirty yards from the hay bales. I notice he already has his crossbow slung over his shoulder. "I've also brought a shotgun, handgun, and rifle."

"Speaking of weapons. When am I going to get mine back?" I say, trying to make my annoyance noticeable. It has been three days since I've arrived, and none of the Council members have addressed me let alone discussed my weapons. "I understand taking my survival things, but I need some weapons at least."

"We only hand out weapons to people not stupid enough to shoot at the sight of every walker. So don't muck this up and we'll give you your bow back." I give him a no-nonsense stare. "Okay fine, we'll give you your knives too." I smile happily and grab my bow.

I hold the bow lightly, relishing the feel of the soft grip and perfect, light-weight balance. We have been through so much together. The bow is sleek, black, and deadly. A perfect weapon I had bought just a few months before the world went to shit. It held up through countless kills, and I achieved a deadly accuracy with its intense sixty pound draw weight.  
"It's a fine weapon you've got there," Daryl comments appreciatively. I flash him a huge smile, the most sincere I've given since I arrived at the prison. He catches his breath for a moment, but it's so short I'm not sure it was really there.

"So's your crossbow," I respond, studying it. "Horton bows are pretty sweet." He raises his eyebrows, surprised.

"Thanks. Don't run into too many experienced folks. A Prime Impact is a good choice, too." Now I'm surprised.

"You know bows? Do you shoot them?" I ask, curious.

"No. Had a cousin that did. Impact is pretty expensive, though." I give an ironic laugh.

"Yeah, tell me about it. Before this hell hole I was actually a physical trainer. Everything from Martial Arts, Krav Maga, and Kickboxing to standard fitness routines; still nothing like the real fear of several walkers attacking you directly at once. Anyways, I made good money, so I could afford the bow, but it was still the most expensive one I'd bought. I freaked out when I handed them my credit card." I stop talking, aware that I am sharing a lot about myself. I have always had a habit of talking too much, and no matter how many times I have embarrassed myself, I've never gotten over it. I glance at Daryl, anxious for sharing so much, but he looks indifferent.

"Sounds like a better financial situation than the shit I was in," he says gruffly before dropping the subject. "You goin' to shoot that thing or what?"

I reach for my quiver, put it over my shoulder, and select an arrow. Solid black, with a steel broad head and blue feathers. I nock it, raise my bow, and pull back quickly and expertly in one graceful motion. I lean my face in, touching my nose lightly to the string and aiming slightly above the target to allow for a dip in the trajectory. I hold the position for half a second, making sure not to overthink the shot. When I release, I do so confidently, exhaling at the same time. I lower my bow, satisfied the shot was good.  
The arrow makes a satisfying thud, hitting the target at the bottom edge of the center circle.

I curse angrily.

"I'm usually better than that," I say instantly, turning to Daryl. He raises his eyebrows - apparently a favorite expression of his - wondering why I am angry. "I meant to hit the dead center. I just haven't shot my bow in a few days," I explain.

"It was a good shot," Daryl says placatingly. I brush off his compliment and shoot again, this time hitting the center.

"There. That was a good shot." Daryl just shrugs in indifference.

"You're definitely good with a bow. How about that knife?" I take the sleek, perfectly-balanced throwing knife off of the table, rising to the challenge with a smirk. "You gonna miss this time or can you actually hit that dummy's head?" he says in a light-hearted mocking tone.

I know he was joking, but my competitive edge causes it to jolt determination through my veins. I hold the knife blade, pull my forearm back, and whip it forward, knife blade lodging between the dummy's eyes with a satisfying thud. I give Daryl a smirk.

"I'm impressed. What else can you do?"

We spend the next hour going through the array of weapons. I shoot the rifle well - I'd gone deer hunting with one several times - but am only mediocre with the shotgun. I hit my target with the handgun most of the time, but could use more practice. I try a katana for the first time - some kind of long sword - but with horrible results. The machete isn't much better either.

"So the deadly girl does have her limits," Daryl said jokingly. I was somewhat offended until I realized there was no malice in the statement. "You should see Michonne wield that katana. Talk about badass."

"Can't wait for when I finally meet famous Michonne."

"You will. Right now she's out on a perimeter check; we run perimeter checks several miles out so we know what's up."

"I got here under the radar," I point out.

"Yeah... How'd you find us anyways?"

"I heard a gunshot and followed the sound." Daryl twists his face in thought.

"And this was three days ago?"

"No. It took my a full day to get from where I first heard it to when I got here."

"So four days. That's when we sent out a hunting party. Explains why you heard a shot; ordinarily we'd never shoot a gun close enough to the prison to draw more in unless necessary. That hunting trip wasn't good for our supplies through. Barely got any food and wasted bullets doing it."

"Speaking of bullets," I say, coming to a decision. I square my shoulders and face Daryl head on. "There's something I should tell you."


	4. Chapter 4: Plans

I sit in the Council room, tapping my foot anxiously, full of nervous adrenaline. When the door finally opens, I jump.

The whole Council has shown up, each taking a seat at the table where I am already situated. Daryl comes in last, shutting the door and flipping the sign on the door so that the "Busy" side faces outwards.

"Okay," he says, turning to stare me down but not in an unfriendly way. "Tell them." I glance around at the others all staring at me intently. I take a few moment to collect my thoughts.

"You shouldn't be afraid of us," Hershel says, mistakenly reading my silence. "We aren't angry with you or anything. We just need to know as much as you can tell us."

"I'm not scared; you guys are just strangers and I don't now what to expect. I'm not a child, but my safety relies on your reactions," I say defensively. "Anyways, I have weapons. Lots of them. And I'm willing to donate."

"And why haven't you mentioned these before?" the woman who cleared out my cell, Maggie, I think her name is, says somewhat accusingly.

"Simple. One, I didn't know whether or not I'd be safe here. I wasn't going to hand them over and get myself kicked out at the same time. And two, I hid them. You won't find them without me, but I wasn't healthy enough to go searching until today." I stare Maggie in the eye while I speak, put off by her tone. She lowers her gaze before I finish. I smirk immaturely.

"Makes sense," a young asian man sitting next to her says. Maggie shoots him a frustrated glare.

"Glenn, it's not about that anymore. It's about how we handle it," Sasha, the woman from the gate, says. Rick, who is sitting at the other end of the table, nods in agreement.

"I don't see the issue there," a large black man says in a deep voice. He has impressive muscles, and I vaguely wonder what it'd be like to spar with him. "Let Andy help in a retrieval mission. She knows where the weapons are and she'll take the least time finding them." I notice Daryl and Glenn nodding their heads. Sasha seems wary, as does Hershel, but Maggie and Carol are unreadable. I decide it's time for me to speak up again.

"He's right. I need to go. Daryl saw me at the range today; he knows I can handle it."

"She can shoot," Daryl says simply.

"That's all great, but what kind of cache are we talkin' here?" Rick finally says, speaking up.

"Yeah, I'm not comfortable risking people for just a few more shotguns," Maggie jumps in, seemingly ready to go against anything having to do with me.

I take note of that.

"It's more than a few guns. It's my entire collection from looting several gun stores, sporting goods stores, and settlements armories-"

"Hold up. You raided settlements? Alone?" Glenn asks incredulously.

"Yes. It's amazing how people never see what they don't expect to see. Even if it's a woman sneaking through an entire survivor camp amongst lookouts. But don't worry, I only took a few guns and ammo from the surplus of each. Never enough to put them under risk. And I'm smart about it, I was only ever caught once, and trust me I learned from it." I purse my lips thoughtfully. "I'm a just thief," I muse.

"Anyways, I have four tubs filled with thirteen hunting knives, ten rifles - autos, semi autos, and bolt action -, eight pump action shotguns, seventeen handguns, four more bows, and three crossbows. All top of the line, I didn't take any junkies."

The effect is immediate. The entire table falls speechless, mouths agape, shocked beyond words. Daryl, whom I've already told of this, studies the others reactions.

"How did you..." the black man begins.

"I've been traveling for eight months. Alone. Weapons are everything. And since I was alone, I got to move when and where I wanted to. And don't worry, I'm not an idiot. There's plenty of ammo for everything."

"Okay. This is huge. That much artillery will replenish everything we've used for the past... _months. In one trip_," Glenn stresses to the group.

"We have to go. Soon," Rick says. "Do we even need to vote? No? Okay. Who should go?"

"I'm in," Daryl says immediately. "Andy obviously has to go. We should take Glenn, too, and Michonne. She should be back tonight." I smile at the prospect of meeting this woman.

"Agreed. But we need more than four. I'd prefer if you could take a car, leave someone guarding it, get all four tubs in one trip, and leave. So you'll need someone to guard the car, and at least two free guns guarding you while you carry the weapons."

"How about Romero?" Carol suggests. "He's been wanting to get back out there."

"I checked his ankle the other day. The sprain has subsided. He's good to go," Hershel says.

"Alright. Good, Romero's a capable lookout. Okay, that leaves two guards."

"If I may, I have a solution," I say, breaking the momentary silence that has formed. "I think Daryl and I should guard. We both use silent, range weapons efficiently. We'd be a waste carrying boxes. Glenn and Michonne probably would, too, but someone has to do it and neither of them use silent weapons from distance. So really all we need are a couple of strong guys."

"I agree," Daryl says. "Ralph and Big Tom can definitely do that. And they're decent shots just encase we need it. They've been waiting for something to do."

"Sounds good. So, this is how it'll go down. Tomorrow, Daryl, Andy, Glenn, Michonne, Romero, Ralph, and Big Tom will meet just after sunrise. You'll take the Subaru, some food, water, and weapons. Andy will lead you to the broken down car, where you'll stop. Romero will keep lookout at the car while Andy takes you to the weapons. Big Tom, Ralph, Michonne, and Glenn will carry the tubs back to the Subaru, while Daryl and Andy ward off any walkers. Then, you all come straight back. No side trips, we're good on supplies right now," Rick summarizes. We all nod, satisfied.

"Okay. I think that wraps it up. Back to work," Hershel concludes, dispersing the group. I feel like I'm a sixth grader being dismissed from class; we even file out in a line. Everyone heads back to their jobs, seemingly as if nothing has happened.

I, however, am full of anticipation. I am ready to act.

* * *

**It's been a slow start, but stay tuned later this week for what happens next. I'm trying to capture the characters, but if you have any tips on their personalities feel free to leave a suggestion! Reviews are appreciated on all aspects :D**


	5. Chapter 5: Retrieval

That Sunday morning, two days after graduation, Natesse packed her bag with hunting clothes. It was a little before dawn, and Natesse planned on getting an early start to hunting. She wanted to catch the early morning traffic in and out of the castle, as well as the midday flow. Both crowds served to hide her from scrutiny. She pulled her pack closed before moving silently out of the bedroom, trying not to wake her younger sister. She pulled their door shut slowly, crept past her mother's room, and down the short hallway leading to the large space serving as a kitchen, dining room, and sitting area. Once in the kitchen, she left a note claiming that she was leaving early to wander the outer villages with Nash. Then it was a simple matter of grabbing some food and water before quickly flitting down the stairs and out into the cool, early morning air.

"I really don't think this is a good idea, Natesse," Nash said for the third time as they made their way from their usual meeting place to Old Acklard Manor. "Ranger Blake saw you last time, he could see you again."

"I know he could, but last time I left in the middle of the afternoon. He won't expect me to be out this early. Besides, I need the money. There are clothes, food, household things, so much stuff to be bought," she reasoned again. Natesse's family could get buy without her secretive additions, but they'd be struggling. Nash kept pestering Natesse until they reached the house. Natesse slipped inside, changed, grabbed her bow, and came back out just as the first sun rays appeared over the eastern horizon.

"Hair," Nash said immediately. In her hurry to catch the early morning light, Natesse had forgotten to braid back her hair. Now she quickly braided and hid it in the back of her tunic, pulling her cowl tightly over her face. Satisfied with her disguise, Nash nodded, and Natesse pulled out her bow. She made quick work of stringing it and slinging it across her back along with her quiver. Nash didn't question this; many men left early to go hunting and the sentries would think no differently.

The two set off for the outer gates once more, chasing the dawn.

At the gates, Nash tried to stop Natesse one last time, even offering to lend her family money, but she quickly silenced his objections with a hug goodbye. She joined the crowd of people who were heading back out to the fields after dropping off their deliveries in the castle walls. No one paid particular interest to her, and she was once again on her way to the thick forest surrounding Marlite to the East.

Because of the time of day, there was no need to sneak into the woods. Natesse walked briskly and upright, following a well marked hunters' foot trail leading into the woods. The path ended in a fairly large clearing featuring a fire pit and sitting logs, which several hunters were already situated around. She nodded friendly greetings.

"Anyone hunting North of Northeast?" she asked in her practiced male voice. The other hunters were surprised by how young she sounded, but they didn't question her gender. She had her face hidden beneath the shade of her deep cowl.

"No," an older, gray haired man responded. "Got some guys down South and out East, but the North isn't looking so good today. Winds comin' from the South," he added, lending a friendly tip. _It's the young one's you got to look out for_, he thought.

"Thanks for the advice," she said simply before turning to a path leading North.

"You hear me?" the man asked loudly. "Said the wind's comin' from the South. Game will smell you from a kilometer away."

"I heard you. Thanks for the advice," Natesse repeated once more before disappearing into the brush. Humph, the man grunted.

"The youngsters think they know," he said aloud to his companions. "He won't kill one thing with that bow. Not today." They all laughed in agreement. Except one. Ranger Blake, disguised amongst the group as any other civilian hunter, had been waiting, hoping to see the same man from the week before. He had thought he sensed an efficient Sunday hunting pattern, and he had been prepared to stake out the woods if he had to. Now he smirked.

"Oh, don't doubt him yet. I'll bet he could kill twice as much game in a day as all of you together," he stated to instant protests.

"You know him?" the older man spoke once again. _I bet he's something of a leader to this group,_ Blake noticed with some interest. _Could be useful if there's ever any trouble out in the woods._

"No," he said finally. And with that he got up, grabbed his longbow and quiver, and entered the woods after the young hunter.

* * *

**Sorry for the long wait! I've just been really side tracked and waiting for a time when I've wanted to sit down and crank out some chapters (that's when I write my best). I've been trying to make this part perfect, and I'm anxious for some reviews. Thank you to everyone who's left some, PLEASE keep them coming!**

Natesse stalked through the trees, totally concentrated. She already had several rabbits and squirrels strung to her belt, and now she was tracking another rabbit. The other men were right, Natesse was upwind from her prey. However, having neutralized her scent with plenty of dirt and dried leaves, she tracked them up until a hundred meters out before circling until she was parallel. Then she slowly moved towards them until they were in range. It was a precise, tedious practice that failed more than it worked, but luck was on her side today. Normally it was a real test of patience. Now she started to circle the rabbit. It was approaching midday, and soon she had to head back. _Just wait till those hunters see me now_, she thought smugly before stepping out to shoot the rabbit.

As she released, Natesse knew the shot was good. She pulled out her hunting knife anyways, and approached the dead rabbit briskly. As she knelt down to gut her kill, her hands reached back to lower her cowl when a voice suddenly stopped her.

"That was a good shot." Natesse spun around, face still hidden in shadow, to see a man in his low to mid twenties. "I saw how you snuck up on him like that." Something was familiar about the man. The curly hair, tall, wiry stature, and that authoritative tone... _Ranger Blake_! Natesse realized.

"Um," she cleared her throat. "Thanks. I'll be going now." She tried for her manly voice and grabbed her rabbit, rising once again to face Blake. "Bye." She quickly turned around and tried to shoot off back towards the castle.

"Wait!" His hand grabbed her shoulder. "I saw you last week, too! You really impressed me, the way you tracked those deer! Most grown men couldn't have managed that, or the shot you made to take it down. I mean, there were branches and an incline and uneven footing. I was hoping you'd come see me after the presentations. I basically called out to you." Blake stopped when he realized he was rambling confusingly. He took a deep breath to steady himself before continuing in a calm, dignified tone. "I want to mentor you. As a Ranger. You have the skill, and I think you have the level head for it, too. I followed you here from the clearing, and you displayed a lot of discipline tracking those animals." Natesse stayed silent, not sure how to proceed. It was all she wanted, but knew she couldn't have. Finally, she spoke.

"You don't want me." She shook off his hand before once again trying to slip away. She didn't get three meters before she felt a hand grab her cowl and pull it off as another hand spun her around.

"At least let me know who-" Blake broke off in surprise. He found himself facing a young girl, dressed in men's clothes, toting a large recurve bow, and posing as a man. "What have we here?" He said, shocked. He thought back to the first Sunday, and how skilled the young man had been. _Not young man, young girl_, he corrected himself, because something inside of him knew this was the same hunter. She wore the same clothes, carried the same bow fitted with a durable, dark purple colored hand piece, and hunted just the same. But he still wasn't ready to believe it. "How?" He asked, lost for words. He realized he recognized her by her bright blue eyes and peculiar hair; he had first noticed her during Presentation Day while scanning the crowd for the unknown hunter.

Natesse, momentarily frozen in place, regained action and pulled up her cowl. "I told you. You don't want me." For the third time she turned to leave, cheeks flaming in shadow, before Blake called out once again.

"Wait! I'm shocked, don't get me wrong, but that doesn't change the fact that you have skills unlike any other fifteen year old I've ever seen. At least come back to my cabin so we can sort this out." Suddenly, Natesse felt very tired. Her rigid shoulders drooped, and she resorted to a solemn tone as she faced the Ranger.

"Sort what out? Sort out the fact that I'd love to be a Ranger, humor the idea that maybe I could be, and then ultimately send me back home to become a seamstress because its ultimately impossible?"

"Impossible?" Blake echoed. He managed one short laugh. "Never been done before, yes. Unexpected, yes. Impossible? No. So you do want to be a Ranger. Good. That's a start. Come on, lets go have some coffee and talk this through." Blake gestured back towards the castle, and Natesse stood, weighing her options. She felt like Blake was making a sincere offer, but she also thought it was just not an option. She was about to turn him down and scurry away before her conscience stopped her. _You'll never know if you don't try_, it argued.

"I'm serious. I think you're extremely talented," Blake said after nervous moments of silence. Finally, she gave in.

"Okay," she said neutrally. "I'm curious how this'll play out."

"Curiosity? Another Rangers' trait." Blake smiled warmly at Natesse, but she didn't return the favor. "What's your name, anyways?" He said, unperturbed by her closed off demeanor.

"Natesse Faron," she responded hesitantly, aware that she shouldn't refuse any questions from a Ranger.

She wasn't ready to trust him. Wasn't ready to hope.

Not yet.


	6. Chapter 6: Strangers

"Do you think we can still hide?"

"No way they already saw us!"

"Well what do we do?"

I snap out of my state of shock and address the group.

"Everyone find a spot you can use for cover if it comes to a shoot out. Guns out now. If they stop, talk friendly but don't give anything away about our group," I say hurriedly, grabbing the sniper rifle off of the Subaru and replacing it with my automatic rifle. I start backing towards the trees, sniper rifle across my back and bow still in hand.

"Don't worry, I'll cover you." And with that, I turn, dodge a walker with a broken ankle, and disappear several yards into the trees. I search quickly, and eventually find a solid trunk covered in knots and branches. Thirty feet off the ground is a wide branch forming a fork facing the road. I sling the bow across my back where it clanks against the gun, and hoist myself up the trunk, throwing caution to the wind in my hurry. I slip a few times, but manage to make it to the fork. Just as I sit back against the trunk and bring the gun to a ready position on my lap, the SUV pulls up fifty yards from our car.

I can see perfectly through a small gap in the foliage. Three men get out, but I see more in the truck. Two of them hold guns, one a rifle and the other a shotgun, but for now they look relaxed, not aiming them at anything. I see the man on the right study our side carefully, making note of everyone ducking behind various barriers. He looks into the tree lines on both sides of the road, but never looks up.

Funny how people never do.

He seems satisfied there's no one in the tree line; either he didn't see me leave the group or he thinks I ran off. Either way, he steps up next to the leader and whispers in his ear. I would bet my lucky throwing knife he told him how many and where all of our people are. After a uncomfortable lull of silence, the strangers finally speak.

"Hello. I hope you don't plan on shooting us in cold blood," the leader says, noticing that none of us have moved out of our ready position. When no one moves or speaks, he shrugs and continues.

"It's just been awhile since we've run into another group. Do ya'll have somethin' nearby?"

After a briefer pause this time, Daryl responds.

"No. We been movin' round a bit." The stranger laughs amicably.

"Yeah, I'll bet. Our stores have been lookin' pretty bare lately," he says, keeping a friendly tone.

"What stores?" Romero asks, confused.

"The ones all 'round here of course! The pharmacies and gas stations and supermarkets!" his voices rises, but he keeps calm.

"We don't take anythin' that's protected. But you can't just claim stores like you own the land," Daryl responds in the same fake-friendly tone.

"And that's where you're mistaken. We cleared those stores a great number of times, and I'll be damned if we don't own what's in them. Besides, one of ours actually does own two of the supermarkets." He finally breaks his composure; his voice turns cold. I notice my group tense slightly.

"Doesn't matter what you did when you went through 'em or who owned them before. We had to work just so hard when we got there. Now why don't you continue on?" Daryl suggests, making his threat clear.

"Oh we will. When we get our supplies from your car."

Our side instantly protests. The strangers look angry, and I raise my gun cautiously. I sight the guard on his left side, the immediate threat, knowing the leader still has to draw. I rest my finger on the trigger guard, waiting for any sudden moves.

"We're not giving you our stuff. Now get lost," Romero says, voice ringing out over the others ominously. The leader raises his hands in mock submission, and starts to turn...

Nothing happens. The three return to the car and open the doors. Just when we think its over, just when Ralph and Big Tom exhale pent up breaths, the strangers attack.

Using the car door as a shield, they raise their rifles and fire a few shots before diving into cover. No one is hit, but a bullet does tear through the space just above Michonne's head. Our group is instantly on alert, and we duck behind doors and cars, careful not to expose any skin. All of the strangers have gotten out of their car now, and they seem to have the advantage with their larger doors, large guns, and eight people to our, supposed, six. They have four on each side of their car, and they refrain from anything too risky.  
But they don't have the advantage.

Unaware of my presence, they fail to shield themselves from my position. I only have a direct shot on two of them, but I stay my hand, waiting for a chance to take out more. Several more shots are fired, some at the opposition, some at approaching walkers. One of the others has been hit in the arm, but not his dominant, and he continues to shoot. A long, tense minute goes by, when there!

Two men on the far side of the SUV stay out of cover too long, distracted because my group isn't returning fire as quickly. I raise my gun from it's patient rest across my lap, and sight the furthest man. I feel a nervous beat in my heart, and a remorseful tug, but I choke down my emotions as much as I can. I focus on the man's head, move my finger to the trigger. Everything feels in slow motion, but I promised my team I would protect them. I tell myself my actions are justified, I'm protecting my group after all.  
I pull the trigger.

I see him go down in my peripheral, take the kick back in my shoulder, but tunnel my focus on my next target. He hasn't noticed the man drop behind him; I avoid detection as I take him out. It's easier now that I've started, but not if I think too much about them. Surviving through this much shit just to be gunned down by a hidden sniper. If only their leader had listened.

I move my gun across the SUV's hood and back to the two not covered by the car. I follow the same pattern as before, shooting the one further back so as not to alert the other. My first shot goes a little behind him, causing me to curse anxiously. He doesn't notice. After all, he is in the middle of a gun fight. I adjust my aim and fire again. It works, and I take them both out in quick succession. By now, though, the others behind those two have noticed. I pull back from my scope and make eye contact with one of the guys on the side of the car near me. I see him raise his gun towards me, his face twisted in confusion. I jerk my gun back to him, but watch him go down through my scope. I turn my head back to my group, and see Glenn nod at me. Thanks Glenn. One less asshole to deal with.

Now the remaining three are panicking. The leader is still alive, still has that steely look in his eyes. But he's not entirely stupid; this I know when he raises his gun in defeat. He's not interested in an exchange with a hidden sniper firing back.

"I surrender," he says, words smothered in anger. "I know when I'm beaten. Let's go boys." He climbs back into his truck, and I watch, relaxed, waiting for him to leave. Just as he puts it in reverse, I see him say something to the man next to him.

Before any of us can react, the man riding shotgun raises his gun. I hear a bang, and my heart stops. I whip my head to the right, and watch helplessly.

Daryl is lying there, rolling on the concrete, in a pool of blood.


	7. Chapter 7: Wounds

Panic erupts. I raise my gun for a few quick, aggravated shots at the truck, but I hit the SUV harmlessly. I curse angrily and fumble with the sniper rifle strap in my haste to secure it over my shoulder. Finally, I am climbing down the tree. I let myself fall the last few feet, and rise to face a few walkers.

They go crazy, rushing me in an extreme hunger. Adrenaline pumping, I draw my two knives. I throw my throwing knife at the one on the right, and plunge my hunting knife under the chin of the closest. One left. Normally, three walkers at a fifteen yard range would cause some anxiety, but I'm in rage mode. I grab my bow and nock an arrow in record time, shooting the walker that's now eight yards away. Despite my extreme adrenaline rush, my grip is firm and my aim is steady, and the arrow disappears through it's eye, my sixty pound draw weight showing true at this close range.

I rush forward, grab my arrow where it has stuck into the ground, and take off for the cars. Everyone is crowded around where Daryl is lying, gasping and grabbing at the worn, gray pavement around him.

"Someone get me some cloth!" Michonne orders frantically, hands coated in blood as she pushes on the wound. Big Tom tears off a piece of his t-shirt under his leather riding vest and hands the swath to Michonne. She creates a pad and presses it to Daryl's right upper arm where the bullet struck, securing it with her belt. I hear load moaning and turn my attention down the road, opposite of where we came. Coming towards us is a small herd of two dozen walkers, currently seventy yards away.

"Company!" I shout to the others, knowing the walkers will be attracted to the fresh blood and dead bodies. I raise my bow and take down five in rapid succession, but know they'll be here before I can kill them all. Glenn and Ralph have taken out four between them, but they, too, realize it's futile.

"Let's go! Get in the car!" I say, spinning around and helping Michonne get Daryl back to his feet. His teeth are clenched in pain, a sheen of sweat covers his upper lip and forehead. His face is a red flushed grimace as we unload him in the back seat. I climb back to the front, Michonne and Big Tom slide next to Daryl, and Ralph and Romero get in the trunk. Glenn keeps shooting down walkers as he backs into the driver's seat.

"Drive!" I shout, opening the window when he finally starts the car. The first walker touches the hood of the car when Glenn finally starts reversing. I draw my hand gun and fire shots, hitting two, thankful when Glenn finally pulls away. He drives straight back towards the prison, cutting the trip down from thirty minutes to fifteen in his haste. Daryl is losing blood despite the pressure Michonne is applying. I'm panicking during the whole drive, wishing Michonne could stop his pain, or Glenn could drive faster, or, most of all, I could help Daryl in some way. But while I know a lot about fighting, working out, and performance enhancing drugs, I have no standard medical training. All I can do is sit, tensed up, in the front seat, trying to relax.

Once we're finally back, Michonne and I jump out of the car at the gates. I shoot down the surrounding walkers with my bow, Michonne wielding her katana in the mesmerizing combinations of a seasoned pro. We take out at least fifteen before finally driving the walkers back. Once we get a good gap, Sasha, on gate duty again, hauls the wooden doors open. We rush in after the Subaru, before finally bending over and catching our breath. Big Tom pushes the back door open and drags Daryl out. He's strong enough to lift him, and he does just that, setting off at a jog for the infirmary.

"What the hell happened?" Sasha asks, shocked at the state we're in. Everyone else seems too anxious focusing on Big Tom to respond, so I tackle Sasha's questions.

"We met some resistance from a small group. Eight of them, rifles and a big SUV. Took them out, but Daryl got hit while the bastards were driving off," I ramble out, words mashing together. Sasha looks dumbfounded, then angry.

"Well why not go hunt the bastards down?" she demands.

"Oh, I will. But not now. Daryl needs attention, and things have to cool down first. Trust me, when the time comes I know where to look." I push past her, annoying her with my lack of answer, and walk briskly to the trunk of the Subaru. It's already open, Ralph and Romero are talking intently to Glenn. I grab a tub of weapons, as does Michonne right behind me.

"Sasha, can you help?"

"Yeah. Romero!" she calls, grabbing his attention. "Watch the gates for me!" He nods and takes her rifle, sitting in the watch chair.

"Glenn, grab a tub, too," I order but not demandingly. He complies, and the four of us set off up the fields. I walk quickly, anxious to drop off the weapons and see Daryl. The others easily keep my pace, just as eager as I.

"Everyone will be in the infirmary with Daryl. I'll take you guys to the armory," Glenn says, taking lead. We enter the courtyard and go in the set of doors leading to the Council's conference room and, eventually, the infirmary. I follow Glenn inside, entering an open hallway with desks on either side.

"These are all empty," he tells me. "On the upper floor are offices we use for meetings and stuff; that's where we discussed this mission. Down here, past the stairs, is the armory. If you go that way," he says, pointing at a long hallway perpendicular to the doors, "you'll reach the infirmary."

We continue towards the armory and meet another guard. She exchanges a look with Glenn before turning and unlocking the steel barred doors. We push past her into the room, and I look around, disappointed.

This is the weakest armory I've seen of all the settlements I've raided. Several tables are set up in the middle. One table is dedicated to ammo for handguns, rifles, and shot guns, as well as flares, grenades and tear gas. However, the ammo is thinning, and there are only a few each of the latter items. One other table features a small collection of machetes and axes, a good display of knives, and two more katanas. The third table is empty, waiting for use. On the walls are guns. This is where the room is most extensive, but it's still lacking. Several kinds of guns are hoisted, hung, or leaning against the walls, but only a few of each, if not only one. I place my tub on the empty table and walk over to a small wall on the other side of the room.

Before me are bows. Two are worn, older, but still bows nevertheless. The third one, however, is a vibrant blue beauty. I raise my hand to run my fingers over it, a smile stretching over my face despite the lack luster collection. I feel ironic; my new safe home has impenetrable barred doors, but no weapons. Then I drop my amusement. There are monsters outside the fences, and some of them shoot back. We needed my weapons. And, throughout all of this, lying in a bed of pain, is Daryl.

My smile disappears.

"Do what you want with the weapons," I say before grabbing something from a tub. It's the best crossbow I've come across; perfect craftsmanship and top of the line. I know Daryl will love it - from the sound of it he never would've been able to afford one before. I toss my rifle and hang gun on the table, opting to keep my bow and arrows across my back as well as my knives in their holster. Then I leave the room and set off for the infirmary at a jog.

I rush down the hall Glenn pointed out earlier but it takes me awhile before I finally reach the infirmary. It's a whole Cell Block with cells dedicated to quarantining severe illnesses and offices supplying beds for injuries. I grab a medical mouth mask at the door before I walk past some coughing people in cells. My feet ring out as I pound up the metal stairs and across the upper level. I walk down a row of offices, peering into each one until I find Daryl.

He's lying on a bed, shoulder swathed in white gauze, surrounded by Hershel, Rick, Carol, Maggie, and a few others. I want to charge in there and talk to Daryl on my own, but I know it wouldn't win me any points with the council. Instead, I wait until Hershel glances up and sees me at the door before excusing himself to come into the hall. I hug the cross bow tight to my chest, as if it were Daryl and I were comforting him. Hershel doesn't wait for me to ask before he plunges into Daryl's condition.

"The prognosis is positive. He lost some blood but not enough to need a transfusion; luckily the bullet just grazed his arm. It's a very painful wound, but no lasting damage. An inch or two to his left and he'd lose mobility in his shoulder for a year, possibly forever. But he was lucky, and his arm will only be sore for a few months - if that. He should regain majority usage a few weeks from now, but he's on bed rest and minimal movement until then; he still lost quite a bit of blood and needs to regain his strength." I listen intently, unconsciously chewing my lower lip as I wait with bated breath. When no bad news seems to come, I exhale in relief.

Unexpectedly, I feel a desire to lunge forward and hug Hershel. I'm surprised by the feeling, and only regard him with thankful eyes.

"Thank you. So much," I say with a strong intensity.

"Just doin' my job," he says, surprise evident.

"Do you think I could see him?" I ask. Hershel seems to understand I mean privately, and nods his head before pulling away and back into the room. Barely a minute later, the whole group walks out. Rick exits last.

"Rick! Glenn's in the armory with Sasha, Michonne, and the guns," I say, catching his attention.

"Good," he replies tensely before heading down the stairs after the others. I turn to face the door and enter the room, anxiety written plainly on my face.

"Hey," Daryl says faintly in a gruff voice.

"Hey," I respond gently. I walk forward, hiding the crossbow behind my back with one hand. I sit in the chair next to the bed, and slip the crossbow to the ground before he can see it. "How are you?" He glares at me angrily.

"Not you too. Hell, I don't need no babysitters comin' in here tellin' me everythin's all right! Are ya gonna treat me like a man or do I need to kick you out?" I give him a wry grin.

"Well you're definitely yourself. Actually, I just want to make sure you don't hate me." Now he looks at me, confused.

"Why would I-"

"Because I'm the reason you were shot! I tell you 'I have your back', and what do I do? The first sign they show of giving up and I buy it - no hesitation. I didn't even consider they might be playing us! I should've had my sights on them the whole time, ready for that type of bullshit. But I didn't." Daryl only gives me an incredulous look.

"Are you serious? I don't blame you for this. No one does. You took out half of them. We should've been more careful, but the fault don't go to anyone. Hell, without your quick thinkin we might been walker chow right now."

I sit quietly, assessing his comments. Did my quick actions really save the group? I mean, I did grab the sniper rifle and make sure my team was in cover. I chose some high ground and took the thieves out before they even knew I was there. It's not like those were super smart decisions, though; they were pretty straight forward. Hmmm. I guess not everyone would've thought about being a sniper. Maybe I did more than I thought.

"Seriously. Today was good. We practically doubled our armory and all that happened is I was shot? I'm not saying I'm okay with it every time we go on runs, but this time I'll take it." He tries to reach his hand up and push hair out of his face, but stops in a grunt of pain.

"Don't move your arm!" I exclaim, jumping up to push him shoulder back down. He gasps, eyes going wide while he clenches his teeth. It takes me a second to put it together.

"Oh, shit! I'm sorry," I say, realizing I just pushed on his shot arm. He tries to play it off, but I know he's in a lot of pain. "Here." I reach my hand out, intending to brush his hair back for him, but he turns his head away from my hand.

"Let me help you," I say gently. He looks at me with reproach, but doesn't lean away when I stretch forward again. I brush his hair behind his ears, trying to maintain a harmless expression. His eyes soften, but he is still weary, like he's expecting pain from my hand. My fingers linger for a second, but I pull back and sit in my chair. I definitely don't expect him to thank me, but I don't know what to say for once, so I sit there silently.

"Oh! I almost forgot!" I reach down next to my leg and grab the crossbow off the floor. "Here. This is for you; the best crossbow I've found on the road." I hand it to him, and he instantly inspects it, eyes taking in every inch. "Barnett BCX, camo finish and brand new. I found it sitting in a corner of a settlement in... Well... I'm not sure exactly where. I didn't even know I was in Georgia until I got here. Anyways, its old owners probably didn't know how to use it, so I liberated them of the trouble," I say smugly, hoping he doesn't care that I'm a thief of sorts. I'm just relieved no one's said anything about that so far. I would think they'd be wary of me but I'd never steal from my own group.

Daryl is still turning it every way he can, the closest thing to a genuine smile I've ever seen is on his lips. I grin to myself, glad I am helping. He may have blocked out every word I've just said with the amount of intensity he's inspecting the crossbow with.

"That ones yours. I'm sure Rick will approve. Anyways, I should be heading to see him. He'll want to know how the run went." I stand up and turn when I feel a hand catch mine. I spin back around, a curious look on my face.

"Thank you," Daryl says seriously. I smile, turn back around, and exit the room.


	8. Chapter 8: Closed Off

I raise my left hand in a small wave as I drive through the gates of the prison. The man on guard, a Woodbury survivor named Spencer, reciprocates. I pull the Subaru up the gravel path, passing some kids playing and the vegetable gardens. They're growing well since they were planted three months ago, just a week before I arrived here. I slow down to dodge the people once I'm in the courtyard, pulling left into an area storing our various vehicles.

I bring the car to a stop next to the Hyundai and Michonne and I jump out. We've just returned from another run, the sixth I've been on including the weapons run. It's amazing how fast our group burns through stuff. I guess I'm not accustomed to taking care of more than just myself. Michonne retrieves an old shopping cart before meeting me at the back seat, where we pull out several bags of food, random amounts of various kinds of ammo, and some things for the kids. Michonne smiles as she holds up an abstract vase.

"Can't believe we found this," she says, teeth bright against her dark skin. "Beautifully balanced and not a scratch! It will go perfectly with my cat." I laugh and pretend to gag.  
"That ugly thing?!" Michonne feigns being insulted.

"Are you kidding? If you don't know art, don't pretend to!"

"I don't pretend to, but it doesn't take an expert to know that cat was left for a reason," I counter. We trade insults as we unload the car, sounding like old friends. Which is basically what we've become in the past months. Michonne is the closest person I've come to; the other two being Daryl and Rick. Michonne and I have been on the same run team every time I've gone, and she's been my partner for the past two. The three before were small missions I led, doubling as searches for the group that shot Daryl. It didn't take long for Rick to notice I am smart enough and experienced enough to lead runs, especially with his favorite crossbow-toting redneck out of business. We've checked several nearby towns where I suspected the bastards may be, but so far there's been no sign.

"I'll take these inside. You probably going to see Daryl, right?" Michonne says, catching my attention.

"Yeah. I told him I'd take him on the range. You know, keep him busy."

"Are you teaching a class tonight, too?" I've started a fighting class under Rick's permission. I teach anyone who wants to learn how to defend themselves and turn a defense into an attack. The training covers human and walker opponents. Recently, we've progressed to using knives. I have a solid group ranging from age ten to age fifty; there's no way I'd turn down a willing student. Everyone needs to know how to defend themselves if they want to survive at this point. I ran basic sparring matches at the beginning to see what I was working with, and was shocked some of my students made it this far. Woodbury survivors had it easier than I thought.

"No. That's tomorrow," I respond, setting the last bag in the cart and shutting the car door. "You sure you can take all of these?"

"Yeah. Go see Daryl; he's probably waiting," she says, winking at me.

"What?" I ask slightly confused. She starts giggling and pushing the cart towards the buildings, wheels squeaking in protest. I back away, shaking my head, before we start another argument.

"Let's start at thirty," I suggest, walking up to the target alongside Daryl. He follows me complacently. We stop at a line marking thirty yards, and I stand to the left of Daryl, facing him in my shooting stance.

"Ready? Aim. Fire," I say, calling out a series of five shots at a relaxed pace. We build up pace until we're shooting rapid fire. I only half pay attention to my bow while I take in every inch of his form and expression. He's not showing any pain, and this is a good sign. For the past month I've been working with him to increase use in his upper arm. The first few weeks after he was shot were painful and difficult. A point blank ten yard shot used to cause him problems. Not to mention the exertion and gritted teeth it took for him to pull back the string and dock a bolt.

As we continue our practice, we start to talk openly. Through the past two months we've become fairly close. We started off talking about hunting, but we've gotten deeper than that a few times. Like now, when he asks me about my old group.

"There were two other girls, Rachel and Mckenzie, and then there were three guys. Peter, Allen, and Dean," I say, carefully controlling my expression. "We were all together, on a hunting trip, when we saw our first walker. We were sitting in the hunting cabin when we saw it through the window. It was this ugly thing, savage and covered in fresh blood. I approached it slowly, followed by the others, and noticed the torn flesh all over the woman's arms and legs. The thing growled at me, and then I noticed the eyes - yellow, crazed, and not human. I didn't hesitate when I shot an arrow straight through its heart. But the bitch just fell, got up, and kept coming. I fired off another shot in its heart before I realized it wasn't working. I was terrified, but aimed for the head. It finally stayed still, and we knew how to kill them.

"Course at that point we had no idea what we were killing. We turned on our old, staticky radio and heard reports of some kinda disease. People were catching it and turning into cannibals. We were scared shitless so we packed up our weapons - ten bows since we each had a back up, the guys had shot guns, I had my rifle, and Rachel had her pistol - and we loaded our truck to head home. On the way back we saw more of the things in the streets, but we kept passing them. Wasn't until we ran into a group of about twenty that we realized there was nothing to go back to at home.

We drove around a lot the first few days; everyone slept while one person drove, constantly avoiding the savages. Eventually we found an old food packing warehouse that some survivors had boarded up in. They accepted us, but Dean got greedy. He gathered us at night and spoke about taking over the place. Didn't want to share resources, he said. I can't believe I listened to him. But when it was over, after we murdered them, we had a new home, a huge stock of food, and we kept it standing through several small waves of walkers. Then... Something happened," I say, scrunching up my face. At this point we are taking a break, sitting on the ground and sharing a water bottle. I play with some grass as I choose my words carefully.

"After that night I couldn't stay there anymore. I waited until late while it was my watch, took my Impact, stole another bow, took my rifle, my .45 Colt, and my two knives. Then I stole a car and left, never looking back." I look up at the trees, watching the leaves rustle with the gentle breeze.

"I still miss Rachel's laugh; it was like pure happiness. And Mckenzie was so fearless and funny. There were several times I wished I were more like her; but she never beat me in a sparring match. Peter was so smart, he always knew what to do. And Allen was so hopelessly in love with Rachel, I don't know how she never found out," I say, smiling stupidly as I watch the trees.

"Sounds like you miss 'em," Daryl says gruffly, speaking for the first time in minutes.

"I do," I confide, feeling a longing to see my old friends.

"If you miss them so much, why'd you leave?" He follows up, throwing the question like a bolt out of the blue. I turn to stare into his intense gaze, searching for some kind of accusation there, but I find none. He seems to read my silent plea in my eyes, and he drops his eyes.

"Don't mean to pry." I nod and return to watching the trees. We sit in a tense silence for a minute.

"It's okay," I finally say. "I left because... Dean and I... Well, he just wasn't someone you'd want to be around." I leave it at that, and Daryl seems content with my answer - for now.

"What about your brother?" He asks, a little more hesitantly. We've talked about our brothers at length before, enough to know that we've both had complicated families.

"I don't know. He was off in rehab when it all happened; he could be anywhere now. I mean, I made it all the way to Georgia. I just keep thinking about what I would do if he showed up here, alive. I like to think I'd slap him in the face and shut him out, but I don't know if I could. I felt abandoned by him for so long, and all I ever wanted was his protection or advice. Now I realize I never needed it; I'm strong because of him. What about you?" I ask, wanting to know more about him.

"Nothin' really to say," he responds bluntly. I turn my body and face him, forcing him to make eye contact.

"After all I've just shared? I already know Merle was a shitty brother; Rick's told me about it," I say, attempting to console him.

"You don't know what the fuck you're talkin' about," he spits back angrily, rising up and heading towards the target to get his bolts. I push myself off the ground and rush after him.

"Wait! Talk to me about it!" I plead, grabbing his shoulder when he turns to face me, bolts in hand. He tries to walk off, but I push him back, keeping him there.

"Move. I don't want to hurt you," he says menacingly.

"No," I say, just as determined, a fiery look in my eye responding to his dark, steely blue irises. "Just talk to me. I'm sorry for listening to Rick, but you don't offer anything else for me to hear! We've spent the last two months together, talking about walkers and hunting and me - always me! But never you! Why don't you trust me?" I drop my hand in defeat, genuinely hurt that he won't let his guard down. I see a conflicted look cross his face, but he regains a strong composure.

"Look, I'm not someone you want to invest your time in. The others say I've changed. They say I'm more open now. But there's some stuff I'll never talk about, so don't waste your breath on me. I'll see you at dinner," he says, pushing past my shoulder and heading back towards the prison. I stare at his back, watching him as he makes his way, hurt more emotionally than I have been in a long time.

I rapidly shoot arrows into the target, emptying my quiver angrily. How could he just brush me off like that? I've told him so much, and he just walks away? I stalk to the target and start ripping the arrows out, hearing a loud crack as one of them splinters. Cursing, I close my eyes and take a few breaths, calming myself. I proceed to remove the arrows, careful not to break anymore.

I look over to the prison when I hear my name called, and see Michonne waving her arms. Time for dinner I guess. I sling my bow across my back and head over, my mind flying in a million different directions.

I wasn't up front with him about Dean, but so what? He won't tell me anything. I have no idea what he did before, what his brother was like, his family, friends, interests, nothing! I'm so frustrated and confused. I thought we were really getting somewhere. I mean, he lights up every time I get him and take him to the range like it's the only thing he lives for. And I can feel his eyes following me when I saunter past or talk to others. I know he's complicated, but seriously!

I reach the tables and head to my usual; I sit next to Michonne, Rick, Carl, Daryl, Glenn, and Maggie. Carol, Hershel, and his daughter, Beth, sit at another table with Rick's baby girl Judith and some other kids. I pull back my chair and sit, staring at my plate with a pout. The others try to draw me in the conversation, and I can feel Daryl's contradicted gaze, but I just look at the table and eat my food solemnly.

As soon as I'm done, I push back my chair and dump my dish before the others can catch me in a conversation. I stride back to my cell and push through my curtains, setting my bow and arrows next to my bed. I unlace my boots quickly, arranging them so I can pull them on easily if I need to. I crawl under the covers in my jeans and gray t-shirt, leaving my hunting jacket carefully folded on my bedside chair. Finally, I lean back on my pillow and shut my eyes, finding solace in this chaotic world.


	9. Chapter 9: The Past

**I can't believe this has so many views! Thanks to everyone who follows, favorited, or finds this story and reads it. Please consider reviewing - reviews make me happy and want to write more :)**

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_He pushes me against a crate, hand wrapped around my throat so I can't scream. I don't plead, instead I glare back at his smug, cruel smile, trying to muster up my anger defiantly. My hands are bound together behind me with rough rope._

_"Don't think I haven't noticed the missing food. Or the looks you've been giving Peter, praising him like he's your savior," he says, loosening his grip so I can speak._

_"I.. Didn't take.. Anything," I choke out hoarsely. "And Peter.. And I - just friends."_

_"Yeah right you sneaky bitch. You strut around here like you lead this group, but you don't! I'm the one who cleared out this place, I'm the one your sorry ass should be thanking!" He moves his left hand from where it's been resting next to my head, and runs it down my side to my hip. He presses his calloused, cold thumb to my skin where my t-shirt has ridden up._

_"But I know your game. You want me to do this. You want me to catch you in your lies and deceptions. And I did." he praises himself eagerly, pushing his body up against mine. I can feel his arousal, and I grind my teeth. I try to say no, but fail. He understands me anyways, and grits his teeth angrily. "Just admit that you like this." He roams his hand around to my butt and up the back of my shirt, trailing my bra strap with his rough hands. My spine is crawling where his hand has touched it. He loosens his choke hold again, waiting for my answer._

_I gather all the saliva I can, and spit it in his face, strenuous tears spilling over my cheeks against my will. He growls out in extreme anger, pulls me forward, and slams me back into the crates painfully. He removes his left hand and reaches into his back pocket for something. My eyes widen when I see up what he holds: two bandannas. One he wads up and shoves into my mouth, releasing his choke hold but still rendering me speechless. The other he uses to blindfold me. I do what I can, struggling and trashing to break his hold, but for as good of a fighter as I am, I'm bound, blind, and gagged. And he's stronger._

_I hate that he's stronger._

_I lean against the crate, completely vulnerable, terrified but willing myself not to surrender. Suddenly, he rips my shirt off, unclasps my bra, and runs his hands over my chest. My nipples stiffen against my will, and my face flushes with fury._

_"See? I knew you wanted me," he practically purrs. I can hear his enthusiasm. The whole time I stand there thrashing but to no avail, completely helpless as I choke on the bandanna and my own tears. I feel his hand move to the waistband of my jeans, and I let out an uncontrollable, muffled sob as his thumb slips below the waistband. He tugs my jeans down, and I whimper. I'm exposed, cold, and helpless._

_Standing there, naked except for my underwear, I know what comes next. I hear his jeans slide to the floor. I feel his hand return to my skin. Unexpectedly, he pushes my roughly down onto my knees. He tilts my head back, and pries open my mouth-_

I come to with a gasp. It's cold, my blankets have been thrown off by my trashing, and my forehead is covered in a sheen of sweat. I swipe the back of my hand across it, gasping for breath. I roll out of bed, pull on my boots and jacket quietly, grab my bow and quiver, and tip toe out of my cell. I realize it's still some time in the middle of the night; the sky outside the window is black and the only sounds I hear are soft snores and heavy breathing. I contemplate going back to sleep, but I'm not prepared to relive that horror. Instead, I creep past a few cells to the top of the metal stairs. I pass the door and window to Daryl's room; casting my shadow into his large office-turned-bedroom. I hear a rustle inside, and freeze, waiting a few seconds before continuing down the stairs and finally out of the door.

Once in the cool, early summer's night air, I trudge out to the fields where the targets are, sinking into the cool grass near where Daryl and I sat earlier today. Or was that yesterday? Whatever, all I know is I can still hear the conversation.

"I left because... Dean and I... Well, he just wasn't someone you'd want to be around," I had said. Talk about understatement of the century. I haven't had a nightmare-free night since I left my old group. Tonight's dream was shockingly vivid though. It's like I could smell him; the earthy, saw dust scent and bow string oil. I feel like cool breeze raise goosebumps on my skin, and I hug my knees to my chest, placing my bow and quiver on the ground to my left. I don't know how long I'm sitting there, trying to rid my head of thought, before I hear muted footsteps behind me. I turn, raising my bow cautiously, eyes squinting to see in the dark, but lower my bow when I see Daryl approaching. I face the targets once more, not acknowledging him when he sinks down next to me.

"Andy," he says, but I don't turn. I just push my face into my knees, once again wrapping my arms around them. "Andy," he repeats relentlessly. I still ignore him until I hear his sigh, causing me to turn and bore my empty eyes into his face, still feeling the shock of my nightmare. I turn to stare into the grass once more, and we sit on the cold ground together for a few moments. Then, Daryl begins to speak.

"I found a group, in a quarry outside of Atlanta. The walkers weren't that far outside the city yet." He tells me about his first group, beginning with the people he's lost and mentioning those I know. He tells me that from the quarry, they went to the CDC for answers, but found none. They scavenged while heading to a place called Fort Benning, when Carl was shot and they found Hershel's farm. I bite my tongue in surprise at the news about Carl, forcing myself not to interrupt Daryl. He continues to the farm, where the group's trust and connections were tested. A huge horde pushed them off the farm, and they were back to scavenging and house-hopping all of winter. Eventually, Rick discovered the prison, and they wasted no time securing the place. But as soon so they thought they were safe, they learned of another settlement, Woodbury, run by a psychotic man who called himself the Governor. Shots were fired, blood was spilled, and ultimately it came down to a war at the prison. The Governor was chased away, where he lost it, killed his militia, and disappeared. The Woodbury survivors were brought to the prison, and they've been surviving since.

Daryl recants all of this in a monotone, quiet voice, only showing emotion when talking about the deaths of his friends, particularly a little girl named Sophia and a man named T-Dog. The way he talks about his group, the way he describes the harsh winters and survival, it's a revelation about him. I realize he's broken; his screwed up family and upbringing had made him cold, racist, sexist, and hateful. But the prison group changed him.

He's more open now, he cares about others. He tells me he hasn't changed much but I don't believe him. No, I can see he's caring now. He pretends a lot of emotions don't affect him, but I've seen it. I glance over at him when he's done, and see that he's doing to same. I allow a shy smile to stretch over my face, and he looks at my stonily, searching my expression for something. Acceptance of him? Pleasure in me for his finally opening up?

"So now you know," he finishes.

"Yeah, now I know what your group's gone through," I say, implicitly. He didn't really tell me much about him at all, but I've learned some from his emotions. He ignores my unstated question, heaving himself off of the ground.

"So why'd you come out here anyhow?" I lift myself as well, making sure my bow and quiver are back in place. I cross my arms over my chest, and lean on my hip, cocking my head as I debate my answer.

"Just a bad dream."

"Your old group?"

"Yeah." He nods his head.

"Sorry to hear," he says somewhat awkwardly, obviously unsure how to comfort me but wanting to know more at the same time. We stand in a tense silence for a few seconds, before I spontaneously step forward and wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him down so I can rest my head between his shoulder and neck.

"It's not the first time I've dreamt about it, but thank you for talking to me anyways," I mumble against his shoulder as he hesitantly rests his hands on my back. I flinch harshly at first, his touch sending goosebumps all over my skin, but I choke down my warning signals and let him hug me back. He obviously noticed - how could he not? - and if I pushed away now that'd only create more probing questions. It's the closest I've physically been to a man since the incident ten months ago. I haven't even let Rick touch me in any casual manner, and Hershel has certainly noticed my anxiety during my last two monthly checkups. It's not coincidence I'm so competitive during sparring matches. If Dean hadn't caught me so off guard, I know I could've fought him off. Since then, I've never let another man get that close.

I pull out of the embrace as quickly as I started it and head back to the prison briskly, before I accidentally let Daryl have any more control. I leave him following me slowly, probably just as unsure as I am.

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**O.O I'm anxious to hear how I did and how you guys felt about the flashback. It obviously cleared up a lot of any mixed messages you may have felt regarding Andy and her past, but I hope it actually fit the story nicely and didn't feel uselessly thrown in there. Anyways, right now these chapters feel mostly like fillers to build up the characters, but don't worry, action will come soon. Please tell me what you think!**

**ps. As you've probably noticed, my story does not follow the TV show well at all. That's because I want this to be MY story and not be limited by trying to match each episode perfectly, etc. So if you're confused: as far as the prison group goes, everything up to the fourth season is the exact same. Everything since then is my choice. The disease from the shows and the bit about the Governor coming back hasn't happened and probably won't happen the same way it happened in the show (if it does at all). Hopefully that clears everything up.**


	10. Chapter 10: Lessons

**Sooooo I haven't updated in awhile... Sorry, but, bad news. I'm focusing on my other story for now, so I'm putting this one on halt; probably until the walking dead tv show comes back on, or some time around then. Sorry! Don't hate me or unfollow, because Im not quitting on this story! I enjoy writing it, but two stories is hard to juggle. My fault, I guess, for starting two at once in the first place. Anyways, enjoy, review!**

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I wake fully rested, an irrational feeling of contentment warming my body. The heat of happiness surges through my blood, and I get dressed slowly, reveling in the feeling. After heading to the bathroom to wash my face, I wander to breakfast, blissfully in my own world. It's not until I reach the courtyard that I realize no ones there. My pulse starts to race until a familiar voice calls to me.

"Where were you this morning?" Michonne asks, catching my attention as she heads towards the horse stable carrying a bucket of water. I squint at her, eyes straining against the light.

"What time is it?" I counter, in a daze.

"Nearly ten," she responds promptly. I raise my eyebrows in shock - I'm usually up by seven. Explains why there's no one here. She sees my plain surprise. "Mhmm... Well I put your food over there," she says, pointing to a barrel across the courtyard.

"Thanks. I can't believe I slept that long.. I guess it was just a long night." I head towards my plate and Michonne joins me suspiciously.

"Right... A long night..."

"What does that mean?" I mumble through a mouthful of cold scrambled eggs, looking up from my fork.

"I mean, this wouldn't have anything to do with Daryl, would it? He's not up yet either, and you two seemed pretty heated at dinner." She places her hand on her hip in a cocky manner, jutting out her chin as she studies me. "And I happened to hear two certain individuals sneaking back into the prison in the middle of the night. Lucky for you two I saw your faces before I rammed my katana into your skulls," she says matter-of-factly, as if she saved us from a terrible fate. I grimace, continuing to eat. Damn Michonne. She never misses anything.

"That wasn't even anything." Michonne snorts incredulously.

"Don't downplay it! You two have spent the last two months attached at the hip - it's about time you hooked up." I nearly choke on my food, grabbing my water and chugging it down.

"Hooked up?!" I whisper furiously, aware the courtyard isn't completely empty. "No, no, not at all! I just had a bad dream and went to the range. He followed me to apologize for earlier; I was legitimately mad at him at dinner. Besides, he doesn't like me like that," I mumble embarrassedly.

"Really? That's it? Ugh that's so much more boring. And you're soooo wrong. He obviously has eyes for you; he's constantly watching you and he's always excited to hang out with you. Do you see him do that for anyone else? Look, Daryl is a good guy. He used to be a racist, old fashioned, redneck, I'm-better-and-tougher-than-you asshole, but he's really evolved. Trust me, you two are perfect for each other. You're the first one he can really relate to." I read her features, looking for a sign she's playing with me, but she seems up front. I nod slightly, and flush, embarrassed.

"Really?"

"Mhmm. And you're the only girl tough enough to take him on and put up with his bullshit. Now get a move on - you have class in thirty."

"Oh yeah!" I shove the last bites of food in my mouth and take off for my room, hurrying to get ready. Once there, I pull on my trusty jacket, grab my bow and quiver, and brush my teeth. I head past Daryl's room when I remember what Michonne said about him missing breakfast. Cautiously, I poke my head through a gap between the door and frame where he's left it open.

"Don't just barge in here!" He snaps at me, looking up from the knife he's polishing. I jump in surprise, offended until I see his joking expression. "Don't you know this is a man's room? I could be doing, manly things," he says, mocking some of my first words to him during my first week here. He's sitting on the edge of his bed, hunched over the shining steel of his hunting knife.  
"Ha ha," I say, stepping in and dropping my bow at the door. I turn to push the door against the frame without shutting it. I walk over to the bed and plop down next to him, uninvited. He mumbles something about lack of respect for personal space, but I ignore him.

"Heard you missed breakfast," I say. He goes back to polishing his knife meticulously.

"Yeah. Couldn't sleep much after you woke me up, and couldn't wake up once I did." I notice his shoulders tense but I'm not sure why.

"You hungry?"

"Not really. I will be later, but I can wait till lunch."

"What are you doing till then?" He glances over at me.

"Polishing my knife. Probably tell Rick I'm healthy enough for a run, but I know he'll say no. He's waiting for a go from you, ya know," he says, glaring at me with his demanding, icy blue eyes. I ignore his accusation.

"Wanna help me teach my class? I'm gonna go over what to do when there are multiple walkers." He looks at me, intrigued.

"Hell yeah. Bout time I've done somethin' 'round here. Sick of bein' babied like a little bitch." I jump up.

"Alright, let's go! Or do you need help getting ready?" I ask in a baby voice, teasing him. His face flushes angrily, and I snicker, skipping aware from his death glare . He keeps his knife and grabs his crossbow while I get my bow. Ready to teach, we head down stairs and back out to the range.

"We should just move out here," I mutter as we approach my class, a flirty edge creeping into my tone. Daryl's eyes flit over to mine with a questioning look.

"Any time," he says playfully, and now it's my turn to be confused. But before I can ask, we reach the students. I greet everyone while we wait for two more, and then we're ready. There are twelve people I teach; eight guys and four girls. I'm annoyed that there aren't more girls wanting to learn, I mean, _seriously_? We're in the freaking _apocalypse_. But oh well. I'll take what I can get.

"Who remembers how to take down a single walker?" I ask loudly, starting off while the others are still shooting admiring looks at Daryl, who ignores them.  
"Dodge and dart," Carter, a twenty two year old former computer programmer says instantly. I smirk. I knew Carter would answer; he always remembers the facts. I nod.

"Right. Daryl, stand there," I order moving him over to a space next to the group. They look at me with something approaching awe, but I just raise my knife, taking note of it for later.

"Walkers aren't very fast. And they aren't smart. They come straight at you to rip you apart; no tricks, no tactics, nothing. So, dodge, and dart. Daryl, come after me but at Walker speed."

"You're kiddin', right? I'm not bein' a walker." My eyebrows turn up and I open my eyes wide, putting on the best pleading face I can manage.

"Fine," he growls angrily, spitting on the ground before striding towards me. I slip out my knife and look at him with total concentration, a smirk coming over my face. I feel adrenaline surge through me, something most people don't feel during sparring. But I'm not most people; fighting gives me power and control. I feel safest in a fight because I can dictate what's happening to me.

I dodge Daryl's outspread arms, moving agilely and sharply. Now behind him, I rush towards him. I grab his head before he fully turns, and thrust my knife up until the tip rests against his hair.

"Dodge their attack, and then, when there's a gap, dart in for the kill. No risks, play it safe," I say, not forgetting that I'm teaching a class and not just messing around. I step back from Daryl and face the group.

"You don't need to practice that; we've done it the last few times. However, I do have something new." I smile my full, megawatt smile. "Today we're learning how to handle group walkers. I'm talking three to five at once, within ten yards. What's the most anyone here has faced at close range?"  
Several guys raise their hands, as well as one of my girls, a fourteen year old named Sarah. I nod and point to her with my knife.

"I took on four with my hatchet and baseball bat. They were all coming from the front," she says, face twisting as she moves her arms to demonstrate the scene. "I hit the first three with the bat and hit the last with the hatchet. Then two of the others got up, so I hit them both with the hatchet." I nod approvingly.

"Good. Trevor? Q? You guys beat that?" The two boys shake their heads, Trevor impressed by Sarah, Q (short for Quinton) annoyed he was beaten.

"Sarah, I really like your example because you did something really important for group attacks; distraction. You bought your self time by hitting the first three with the bat. That was fast and easy, and even though it didn't keep them down, it bought you more time to deal with them. That's the most important thing. But you aren't limited to head hits." I turn to Daryl and bend my knees in a ready stance.

"If Daryl comes at me, I can kick him in the chest and knock him down," I say, demonstrating a karate-like power kick. "Or try a flip, though that requires he gets closer to me," I say, flipping him over my shoulder in a Krav Maga style takedown. I don't actually flip him though; I halt the power of my flip and let him regain his balance. "Then I can deal with the others. Another extremely important thing to remember: never let them circle you. If you have four or five at once, make sure you have a way out. If your way out is kicking one over and high tailing it over his body, that's okay, but kinda last ditch. Keep your options open."

Over the next hour, we take turns playing walker or survivor in small groups, using sticks as knives or other melee weapons. I show them ways to buy themselves more time, and give them tips.

"Save the slowest walker for last. If you can kill three before one with a broken leg even reaches you; it just makes sense do to it. In fact, break their legs if you can't break their skulls. Incapacitating the biters is really important."

By the time we're done, we're each sweating and panting satisfactorily. Daryl is just excited to have something to do, and I ride out my adrenaline rush, feeling it ebbing as I bring the class to a close. I set the next time for two days from now, and we all go our separate ways, some still talking about their new fighting techniques.

"They're really enthusiastic," Daryl notes, approaching me from behind. I spin around.

"Yeah, that's what I like. They all want to learn, and it's important they do. We'll have to focus on distractions for a few more sessions, though."

"You're enthusiastic, too," he says, catching me by surprise with his intense look. I shrug.

"I like to fight. Gives me control."

"You talk like you ain't had much of that." I shrug again, this time careful to look casual.

"Not with my brother and father like they were. Not with my old group either. But I've had control for the last ten months."

"I hate hearing those things. A woman like you shouldn't be subject to abuse from your family. From your _friends_." He closes his eyes as if in pain, and I widen mine in shock.

"Do you not want me to tell you this stuff?"

"Course I do," he scoffs. "Just makes me mad that some men can hurt a woman like that. Not how you're supposed to treat 'em." I flash my huge, genuine smile, pleased with his concern and compassion. I knew he's a good man! He breathe slightly hitches, so quiet I'm not sure I hear it, and his eyes adopt a hesitant look.

He brings his arm up in a slow ark, an awkward, testing movement. I look at it suspiciously and gulp, freezing stock still. He lays his hand on my shoulder, a surprisingly intimate movement. Then, he spins and walks towards the prison. I watch him, heart racing, before I exhale a pent up breath. Then, I laugh.

Its exactly like last night, except this time I'm the one left following. Ironic.


	11. Chapter 11: Trust

**This chapter is significantly longer than any of the others; it's kinda a new goal of mine to go ahead and include more in them :)**

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I swallow my last bite of eggs dully. It's nourishing and fresh and great to have food on hand, but I can't help wishing we had something else. It's been eggs for weeks now. I know I'd have been lucky to eat one good meal a day just a few months ago. No sense complaining over something so trivial anyways; not like I can change it.

I peer up across the table and see Rick finishing his breakfast quietly. He's a strange guy. Sometimes he's so in control and peaceful, and other times he seems torn and unsure of himself and like he's scared of every little decision he makes. I guess the end of the world will do that to someone. I grab my water and drain it thirstily, then hurry to rise as Rick leaves the table. I catch up to him as I put my dishes in the bin.

"Hey Rick!" He notices me for the first time and starts walking towards the front fields.

"What's up, Andy?"

"It's Daryl." He looks to me sharply and I hurry to reassure him, noticing Carol stops on her way to the courtyard, eavesdropping shamelessly. "He's fine it's not that. Actually it is that. He's healthy enough to go back on runs."

Rick looks at me with interest, caring what I have to say. It's an alien feeling - having authority. With my old group, Dean and Mckenzie had such strong personalities that I was just kinda there. I was the best in a fight of course, but they never had any interest in that stuff. Plus, there were so few biters in the beginning that we just dodged or shot them before we found and fortified the warehouse; hand-to-hand wasn't necessary. And my father was so controlling all the time he never listened to me unless I misbehaved. Then there was my brother who seemed like he didn't even know I existed. But ever since Daryl's been out of commission and Rick realized I'm a good fighter and tactical planner and I mentioned hunting, I've filled in as the go-to for supplies runs and hunting missions. I'm still kinda uncomfortable with it - it's not like Daryl can just be replaced - but I'm glad to be put to use.

"You sure about this? His arm's not still injured?"

"It's sore but that won't go away for another few months. He can shoot just fine, he's steady, he's still strong. He helped me with my class yesterday." Rick raises his eyebrows. Of course, I never told him about that. But he doesn't interrupt so I assume it's okay. Carol seems tense as she listens intently, casually tying her shoe.

"He didn't show any pain, just a little exertion but that's the goal of the class and all."

"So he's good to go?" My eyes are unwavering as I lock them into his unsure, blue gaze and nod curtly, leaving no room to doubt my conviction. Rick raises his hand and rubs the back of his neck. "Alright then... I trust your word. But there's nothing to go on a run for. You and Michonne just returned yesterday with food and baby stuff."

"I can find something. Actually, I've been thinking about those fences a lot." We both look over to the outer wire fences; bulks of walkers are built up and pushing against the fence, drawn to our warm flesh and an animalistic thirst for our lives. The fence is almost buckled by the weight of the things piled up against it; logs have propped it up but only temporarily, and the sight of it shoots anxiety into my blood.

"We need to fortify. There's a town a little ways North that I passed on my way here. Looked fairly passed over and there was a huge Home Depot. Me and Daryl and some others could go get some tools, wood, metal maybe, maybe even some metal fencing." Rick bobs his head as he considers. There's no pretending the fences need work.

"I want to see a detailed map and plan by tonight. If it looks good you can go tomorrow." I grin excitedly and ensure no complications. I appreciate the trust he has in me - much more than he could know. I spin and walk back to the prison, heading left towards B block where I can enter the tombs close by the library. It's become our planning and categorizing room. Further along this wall is the entrance to the offices, armory, and infirmary. The latter two I've become well acquainted with. Our missions pass through the armory and sometimes end in the infirmary; I make a point to visit anyone injured.

Carol catches me before I enter, her arms folded over her chest. She's wearing a light gray scoop neck under a long, sand cardigan. Stupid, I think. The way people dress around here with their sneakers that wouldn't survive one week in the woods and soft, easily bit through shirts and flowy things to be grabbed. I haven't strayed from sturdy jeans, my tough, camo hunting jacket, and my supple hunting boots.

"Are you sure Daryl is healthy?" Her tone is worried and I study her interestedly. She looks kind and weak enough, but I've seen her stronger side a few times. She's tough on the kids and anyone who steps out of line. I'm not sure how I feel about her; all I know is she's good friends with Daryl though she wants more. I'm not sure how I feel about that... It's not like Daryl's mine, though. We barely know each other. He's one of those I've come closest to, sure, but that says more about my behavior than our relationship. I've been pretty antisocial since I came here; too caught up trying to adjust to dealing with other people and earn my keep.

"Without a doubt. He was healthy enough last week, actually. I just wanted to be more than sure." Carol still looks worried and I sigh. "Look, if I wasn't one hundred percent sure I wouldn't let him step one foot out of this prison." With that I leave, exasperated, and reach the library quickly, greeting a few people on the way. The people here are nice enough, but I've found that I haven't really had much time to get to know them. Or I just haven't tried. Probably both.

There's no one in the library, surprisingly. I head over to the left and grab a large physical map of Georgia as well as a road map. Then I take a red marker, a notepad, and the weapons stock list from inside the desk. I cross the room to a fairly comfortable arm chair and settle myself in, setting the drawn on, roughed up maps on the low table in front of me. My eyes pour over them and I tap my chin with my red marker, chewing my bottom lip thoughtfully. I think over my movements I took to reach here and tentatively sketch a red line on the road map, starting from the the huge star dubbing the prison and moving northeast to where I abandoned my car, then crossings back to the northwest.

The prison is in Senoia, Georgia, and I inspect surrounding roads and neighborhoods, deducing which ones I took to get here. I traveled everywhere in that car, sticking to side roads unless I got low on gas, which means I should be able to route my movements with the roads fairly easily. Didn't go on the highway often because I stocked so much gas, but of course I ran out eventually.

I remember a few street names and a few of the smaller towns, allowing me to backtrack well however hesitantly. I end up with two possibilities: a small town that's just a speck on the map and a larger one surrounded by roads. They're fairly close together... The larger town isn't actually all that big so I doubt there are too many biters. There weren't many when I passed through the first time which means it could be the right one... And the smaller town is so tiny I doubt they'd have a Home Depot. It's definitely the larger one I came through, further north. I study the roads there and draw a few possible routes, marking over earlier lines from other runs.

The town I've selected hasn't been hit by us before so hopefully there's still a lot there. I avoid highways and end up with a few bright red routes ranging from forty five to sixty minutes. Then I grab the notepad and lean back, resting the pad on my knee while I screw my eyes shut and think about everything I remember of the town. It's hard to be sure since I've seen so many, but I think I remember a few street blocks with local stores lining them. At the end of the town were a few superstores including the Home Depot. I lean forward and scribble notes about the layout and surrounding neighborhoods, drawing a rough sketch.

I bite my lip again as I start the personnel list. Who to take? Daryl and me. Michonne? Maybe. She's lethal and we're friends. But it could be dangerous and we just came back from a run. She should stay and rest. I write my name under Daryl's and exclude Michonne, moving on to other people I've come to know on runs. There's Romero and Glenn and Big Tom and Ralph. But then there's Mikaela who's become a deadly shot. Phoebe, Lucy, and Dave are also regulars. Eddie is as good a lookout as Romero only he's better with knives. He can even throw them. I write his name under mine as a lookout - silence is probably important here. With that in mind I add Lucy, a fellow archer. Then I add Big Tom; it's good to have muscle. Daryl has been teaching Anders how to use a crossbow. I add his name. That's six. We should be good whether we run into walkers or people. Eddie will keep watch out front, Lucy out back, and the rest of us can raid the store.

Now I grab the weapons list. I don't need to mark my knives or bow - I keep my knives on me and my bow in my cell. Daryl's crossbow and knife are covered, too. I list the weapons we'll need on the notepad, putting a T next to the sledgehammer and shotgun for Big Tom, his favorites. I add the blue bow, three pistols, a crossbow, and an array of knives as well, initialing each one. I study my plans and look for gaps but this run is pretty straight forward. I scribble "body armor" on the bottom of the weapons list; we have some bulletproof vests and chest plates that we might as well use. We'll need the box truck for all the materials so I mark it as our vehicle. We have a route, car, weapons, and people. Satisfied, I rise, put the physical map back, and gather everything else. I've been working for almost two hours; it took me awhile to backtrack my movements. Rick doesn't need to see me until later but might as well find him now. I've just left the library when Michonne's voice stops me.

"Hey D!" I turn and there she is, cargo pants and orange tank with her work boots. Her katana is over her shoulder and she's smiling brightly, her dark dreads are pulled back with a single elastic.

"Hey Mich! What's up?"

"Just bout to ask you the same thing. I was thinking about seeing Ty and Sasha."

"Can't. I'm tryna find Rick and Daryl."

"Daryl? So you guys are good?" I gaze at her, confused.

"What do you mean? Course we are."

"Well you said you were angry at him and then you guys talked and that was the last I heard. It's never that simple with him. What'd you say anyways? He was pissed at dinner." She leans against the wall and I know she's fishing for info; she's not gossipy but she likes to know what's going on. I know I can always trust her if it comes to that.

"I was just talking about Merle-"

"You brought up Merle?! And he's still talking to you?"

"... Yes." I'm dumbfounded by her reaction. "What happened there? I mean Rick gave me basics. Merle checked out for drugs and Daryl was left alone. Practically raised himself." Michonne leans against the wall.

"Daryl doesn't tell you shit. Does he?" I shake my head, frustrated and embarrassed. I thought Daryl and I were fairly close.

"Look, Daryl used to idolize Merle. Merle actually raised him until he clocked out. I heard he left Daryl with his abusive father or some shit like that. Daryl has no idea what to think of him and now he's dead." Understanding dawns on me, but now I'm aggravated.  
"Ugh, why doesn't he tell me these things? I just thought Merle was some druggie who was never there. I assumed their dad was abusive but I didn't know Daryl actually liked Merle!" Michonne laughs humorlessly.

"He doesn't tell you shit," she repeats. "Daryl craved Merle's approval. Probably missing him a shit ton right now. Anyways, don't stress. It took since this shit started for Rick and them to find out what they know and they still don't have the whole story. I doubt anyone does. I only found out because people never notice me coming and going." She winks conspiratorially. "Anyways, I'm gonna go see Ty and Sash. See ya." She walks back the way she came. Eventually I push off the wall with a sigh and head to find the guys.

After checking the sheet for guard duty and random places I know Daryl hangs out, I finally find him in his room, laying down and staring at the ceiling, smoking a cigarette. He looks over when he hears me push the door open, and I set my plans down on the desk from the room's office days. This is one of two offices in C, both on the third and highest floor across from each other; I guess they were used for interrogation or breaks when this was a functioning prison. The other office isn't in use. It's pretty quiet up here, the only cells in use up here are mine and two others at the far end.

"Been looking for you," I say, heading over and standing next to his bed, trying not to breathe through my nose. I hate cigarettes. He looks at me briefly before going back to eying the ceiling.

"Well you found me," he responds gruffly, taking a long drag. I lean my head away as he blows the smoke up. "Shoulda started here. S'not like I can do anything else. Everyone's waiting for your green light since you're the trainer." He takes another pull and I get the feeling I'm getting a cold shoulder. He doesn't understand; I was only protecting him. I roll my eyes at his petulant tone.

"Look, you can lay here like a whiny bitch-"

"The fuck you say?"

"Or," I continue, ignoring his interruption, "you can help me find Rick and get a go ahead for this run." Now he's listening. He sits up immediately and trains his steely blue eyes on mine, breathing out a smoky haze.

"Whatcha talkin' bout?"

"I'm talkin' bout a supplies run for things to fortify the fences. Got the plans over there." I jerk my thumb over my shoulder and his eyes flicker over to the rolled up map, notepad, red marker, and weapons paper. "We'll take a couple of guys, the box truck - would you quit blowing that shit at me? This room is a damn hot box. How many have you smoked?" He ignores my question but makes a point to blow the next pull away from me. I roll my eyes but accept this is the best I'll get. "Anyways, I marked some routes. You and Rick know the area so I figured you could pick the best one and then we suit up and head out tomorrow."

"We? You mean me?" No shit. Why else would I be telling you?

"Yeah, I told Rick this morning that you're ready." He grins wolfishly and jumps up, flying past me to grab the plans.

"The hell you waiting for? Let's go!" I've never seen him this happy. He stubs out his cigarette on a tray on the desk and I rush to follow him. He goes straight to the fields outside and the bright sun and sure enough, Rick is working on the crops.

"Rick!" Daryl calls. He looks up and we motion him over, leaving him following us as we go to sit at the tables in the courtyard. He reaches us, sweaty and tired from his work.

"Finished the plans," I say. Rick nods and sits down. I take that as my cue and spread them out, explaining where we can enter and park the car and what we should expect. Rick promptly picks the best route for us to take, pointing out herds they've been tracking and vehicle pile ups that we need to avoid. I talk through my personnel choices and the weapons.

"No Michonne?"

"No; she just got back from a run."

"So did you," Rick points out.

"Yeah, but whatever. I'm fine. She probably is too, but she deserves a rest." Rick looks dubious. We three know Michonne wouldn't want a rest and probably doesn't need one, but the two men don't question me further. We should be fine without her.

"Looks good to me," Rick finally says. Daryl's been quiet and I take that as a good sign. "Run it tomorrow. First thing in the morning. Drive should be forty minutes there and forty minutes back, plus an hour or two in the store. If you guys aren't back by dark we'll send someone tomorrow morning, got it?" We both nod and Rick leaves, as if we dismissed him. I have nothing to do now, and neither does Daryl. We're quiet for a few moments as we sit there.

"Let's track down everyone," he suggests finally. I agree and we set off. It's not too hard considering the size of the place and the number of people here, but by the time we're done lunch is ready. We walk back to the courtyard in a comfortable silence. The lunch fare is plain; rice and some squirrel in a bowl. It tastes alright, and I wolf mine down like any other meal. Unlike breakfast and dinner, lunch is kinda an "eat whenever, wherever" affair, so only Daryl and I are at our table. I notice the people at the fence, skewering biters vigorously.

"Never liked that job." Daryl looks up from his food to see what I'm talking about. "Blood flying everywhere and there's always more and more coming. It never ends. Don't know how the fences lasted this long."

"This run is long overdue," he agrees with his gruff voice, shoveling more rice into his mouth so he has to talk around it. I remember him mentioning squirrel is his favorite.

"That job is just so hollow though. Ya know? I mean, just killing all of them makes me think of them as people and think, 'God, there are so many dead'. It's harder to think that when you're being creative."

"Creative? What's creative?" Daryl scrutinizes me as I fake grin, embarrassed and trying to explain. There goes my mouth again.

"You know... Haven't you had any kills that really got your heart pumping? Made you feel like a survivor and not a killer? Here, this one time, for instance, I was in my car and I pulled up to a gas station. Place looked empty and there were some cars in the lot, so I started taking fuel. Then I went inside for some snacks or whatever, and two biters charged at me from both ends of an aisle. I dropped my bow because I couldn't shoot them both in time, small aisle, ya know, and my mind was just in overdrive. Every little thing registered." Daryl watches me closely as my face animates, going back in time to the day I thought for sure I was going to die. Wasn't the first or last time.

"I had no idea what to do. I mean, all that was around were some chips and donuts. I had one knife but I didn't think I could kill one in time to dislodge it for the other. So I pulled my knife, bended my knees, and let them come.

"The one on my left came first. I rammed my knife into his eye and twisted. He sagged limply but I left my knife in, hoping it was secure because I used his body as a shield. Flipped him right over my head and into the other one. They were both scrawny, emaciated things so he didn't weigh too much. The second one got back up and I charged, pinning him to the fridges on the back wall with the dead ones body. My knife was still in the first one's eye socket, so I jammed it even further until I felt it push into the second one's head. They both died and I got my mini powdered donuts." Daryl shakes his head.

"Damn, girl. Always wondered how you made it ten months. That's such a long time, but I guess if you can do that shit then no wonder."

"Aw, is Daryl jealous cos he can't top that? Walker kill of the week?" I say in a mocking baby tone, earning a hostile glare which I return with a cheeky smile.

"Close but no dice; not by a long shot." I give him my _oh-really?_ look and purse my lips, struggling not to smile. Daryl rises to the challenge. "I was on a hunt. Eight came out of the trees and I only had four arrows so I backtracked to an auto shop. Locked myself inside, took out a walker, and found an oxygen tank filled with water and rigged to Co2 and a hose. Knew what that meant so I hunted for the torch and found it, strapped it to the head, broke out a window and lit 'em up."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean I built a flamethrower; torched every single one of 'em." I gape at him. A flamethrower?

"How do you even know how to build one?!"

"I was always building shit - had nothing else to do. I just couldn't believe the son of a bitch left a perfectly good one sitting around and he still blew his brains out. Dumbass." I'm stunned. We sit for a few seconds.

"I just can't... I mean. I don't even... Just, a flamethrower? Holy shit." He smirks.

"Walker kill of the weak?"

"Uh... Yeah!"

"Knew it. Well, I'm up for watch." He rises and I follow him. He looks surprised - I guess he didn't expect me to walk him to the guard tower but whatever.

"What're ya thinkin'?" he asks after a few moments of silence, seeing my shocked face.

"Just the fact that you built a flamethrower. I had no idea that you knew shit like that."

"There's a lot you don't know bout me," he responds roughly. I stare at him deadpan.

"Reaaaally? Trust me, if anyone knows that, I do." He grimaces. "Michonne and I were talking about you. She asked why you were pissed at me and I told her it's cos I brought up Merle." Daryl's face hardens. I notice but don't back down, braving it out.

"I had no idea what you thought about him - hell, I still don't know. I just wish you'd tell me. We'd skip a lot of stupid arguments."

"You want to know about me?" Shit, he's angry. "Fine. I don't share things like that - it's my business not yours. Leave it be."

"Don't get angry with me just because I want to know more about you. That's how relationships work." He snorts derisively, still angry.

"Whatever. Stop fishing, stop trying to 'fix' me."

"I'm not trying to fix you!"

"Bullshit. You and every other woman look at me and see some hurt boy that they have to help - I can take care of myself. You ain't Little Miss Perfect yourself with your family baggage and your old group and whatever the hell keeps you up all night." That's too far. I set my jaw and stop walking. He turns to face me, aware he upset me but too fired up to care.

"First off, I don't give a shit about 'fixing you'. I just wish you trusted me. And second, you want to know why I stay up every night? Do you? Is that what this is?" I lock him in my gaze. He folds his arms over his chest like a petulant child enduring a speech they know they have no choice but to listen to. I laugh humorlessly. "Right." I bite my lip before I go off - really go off, and start a screaming match. Instead I spin on my heel and stalk away, off to find something to do. I need to blow off steam. Eventually I find Ariana, a girl my age I've spoken with a few times. She's got a fiery personality, lived in Indiana, and is tough as nails - we get along. She's playing cards with some people, and I join in, trying to lose myself in the game.

It's late. I know that as soon as I wrench open my eyes, gasping for air, sweat covering my forehead, and my eyes brimming with stressed tears. My nightmare wasn't about Dean this time - it was about my family. My dad was sneering at me, attacking me verbally. My mom was just sitting there, oblivious as always. My brother wasn't even there - he was off scoring drugs. I'm disgusted by how weak I am. Here I am crying and he wasn't even hitting me in the dream. He didn't do that often anyways, just the occasional slap or shove. It was his verbal abuse that really hurt, and that's what I faced in my dream.

Frustrated with myself, I throw my sheet off and pull my jeans and hunting jacket on over my bra, not bothering with a t shirt. I pull my shoes on and grab my hunting knife before slipping out of my cell and down the stairs. This time when I pass Daryl's door I make a point to crouch, avoiding casting my shadow inside. I make it to the tombs without incident and go straight to the library, peering inside to see it empty before settling in an armchair facing away from the door. I curl in on myself and bite my sleeve, thinking back to the days when the world was full of people.

As soon as I was eighteen I took all the money I had saved up from my jobs and left Ohio. Took a bus straight to Indy. My dad was furious, tried to track me down but he had no idea where to look. He had this plan for me that I'd become a doctor but I didn't want that. He scrutinized everything I did and punished me for every bad grade, every missed day of school, every minute I spent with friends instead of my books, every order I didn't follow. Other people thought I was stuck up. They saw me and saw a rich girl who wasn't grateful for what she had. But they didn't know what I faced at home. So as soon as school was out I moved into an apartment outside downtown Indy.

I had always been taking fighting classes secretly, so I approached a few studios until I secured a training job. Went to community college part time, got an education, and studied all forms of fighting. Eventually I got enough money to open my own gym and I taught all ranges of classes. The gym was open to memberships, too, and I hired other personal trainers. It was awesome and invigorating and I even met Mckenzie who brought me into hunting. I never spoke to my family. It was heart wrenching but I couldn't face them. I just can't believe I loved them despite everything they put me through. Now I don't know what I think of them. I'm not going to pretend I miss them, but I'm not sure how I really feel. Indifferent? Sounds right.

I hear someone approaching and I rise, slipping to hide beside the door. Daryl enters and peers around. He heads over to the arm chair. I know he knows I'm here somewhere, but I don't feel like talking. I slip through the door and return to my cell. Ten minutes later I'm facing the wall, wide awake, and I hear Daryl softly approaching. I guess he checks on me, standing there a minute or so before returning to his room. Eventually I drift back to sleep.

I rise early. My night was full of sleeping and waking and sleeping until I finally checked my watch and saw it was late enough to rise. I switch out my bra for a sports bra, don a black t-shirt, pull on tan cargo jeans rather than jeans, and lace up my boots. I leave my jacket over my arm, brush my teeth, and brush out my hair, leaving it loose. I'll tie it back later. Bow in hand, knives in sheathes, I leave my cell. Daryl's closest and I cross to his door, knock, and descend the stairs. I hear it open behind me but don't turn. Lucy and Eddie are in C on the second floor and I wake them both before moving to B and getting Big Tom and Anders. Next I go to the armory with my weapons list - Rick approved everything. The armory guard let's me in and I grab a duffel bag, toss everything except the bows in, and hook my bow and the blue one in my elbow. I make sure to grab silencers for the guns, body armor, and plenty of ammo. The crossbows and bows only hold six bolts in the attached quiver but I grab an extra quiver of two dozen for each. Daryl and I aren't taking guns; Big Tom has a shot gun and the others will have pistols.

When I reach the courtyard everyone is eating and talking. I drop the duffel next to me feet and eat, listening but not joining into the conversation. The sun is just streaking the sky when we set off, armor on and weapons equipped. I ride shot gun and let Daryl drive - he knows the area. I read him directions when he needs them but otherwise we are quiet. The other four ride in the truck bed behind us and are cheery, staying positive. Five minutes out I turn and do my Pre Run Talk.

"We don't know how many biters we're expecting. This is a town so we could run into a lot. The store is at the edge of town so if we're quiet we should be able to slip in and out without drawing in all the dead from town. Eddie, you keep watch out front, Lucy takes the back. We'll park the truck in the back away from the road, if we meet a large herd get to the truck. I have silencers for the guns but try to kill without them unless we have to. Questions?"

Everyone seems good and I go back to watching the roads as we get closer. We round the last bend and the town springs up before us, empty and eerie. I see a few biters in the street but they're a ways off; we veer off into the Home Depot's parking lot before they see us. There are a few in the lot and they follow our truck to the back hungrily. By the time we stop there are ten closing in from different directions. The truck is backed up to a back door and Daryl and I hop out, shooting down the ones coming from the left. Anders and Lucy shoot the ones to the right with ease, only missing a few times. I move to cover them with my bow loaded but I don't draw. Instead I watch Lucy's form. The last one drops ten yards out.

"Good shooting," I say to Lucy. She looks relieved. I'm nervous myself but I hide it - I need to lead by example. "Let's move. Lucy, come in with us until it's clear then take your post."

Daryl grabs the handle and catches my eye. Big Tom is just behind me and the other three are facing behind us, we're in formation. I nod to Daryl and he whips open the door. I draw back and do a quick sweep, shooting down a walker before he can turn. I push inside, taking point with Daryl to my left, Big Tom to my right, the other three behind us.  
It looks empty but I don't let my guard down.

"Let's go aisle by aisle," I whisper, starting to move forward. I feel Daryl grab my arm, holding me back.

"There are too many aisles. Let's draw 'em here. We have space and we can take 'em all at once," he whispers back.

"No, we don't know how many there are."

"Andy, listen to me."

"No, Daryl, you listen to me. I'm leading this, let's go." Daryl looks angry but I move forward anyways. The other four have fallen silent, watching our argument warily. I haven't taken two steps before I hear metal banging on metal.

"Hey! Hey! Over here!" Daryl calls out, hitting a table with a wrench.

"What the _hell_ are you doing?!" I'm seething. "Are you _fucking kidding me_?!"  
He ignores me and keeps calling out and sure enough tons of walkers pour out of the aisles after us. There's fifty yards of space between us and them, but there are dozens of them.

"Shit! Everyone spread out, line, _now_! Shoot them down!" I order, anxiety bubbling up and causing my voice to crack. I raise my bow, draw, and shoot one in its exposed mouth - its jaw is missing. Big Tom's shotgun is firing away, a muted _ping! _ringing out until he's forced to reload. Anders is rushing his shots, missing two thirds. Lucy is holding her own but she's taking too long. Daryl and I are plowing them down but it's not enough. There's still around fifteen shambling across for us in a hunger driven craze and my mind is racing while my arms move instinctively. Daryl and I hit the same walker, pushing it back and into the other ones, blood flying and splattering all around.

"We have to go hand to hand before we're locked in!" I call, continuing to shoot.

"No there's too many."

"Trust me Daryl! If we don't push now they'll trap us against the wall. C'mon, V-Formation!" I let one more arrow fly, drop my bow, and draw my two knives, rushing forward.

There's one just in front of me and I lunge, burying my blade up through it's chin. I draw it out, avoiding the thick, black blood, before lashing out with my smaller throwing knife into the face of one on my left. I duck under the arms of one pushing forward behind the first, spinning and kicking it squarely in the back with my boot. It stumbles down and Anders rams his knife into the back of it's head before tucking back into the right end of the V. Big Tom is hacking away with his sledgehammer, grunting with the effort. Eddie's been shooting with his silenced Thunder .380, but his fifteen round mag is empty. He's throwing knives now. Lucy is slashing with her hunting knife. Three advance on my prone position at point, and I kick one away. It goes falling but the other two are still coming, hungry arms outstretched.

"Daryl!" I shriek, committing to the one on my right with my hunting knife, praying Daryl is free to help. I follow the one on the right to the ground, my knife stuck in its forehead. I feel hands graze my back and a guttural snarl before the hands are pulled away and I hear the solid crunch of a knife plunging through skull. Relieved, I hook my arm around the leg of a walker pushing past me and trip it before it can reach Big Tom's exposed side. I crawl forward and finish the one I knocked down earlier. Without missing a beat I push off the ground, silence the one I tripped, and raise my two knives, panting as I spin around, looking for a new opponent, my eyes a frantic frenzy.

"Andy. Andy!" Daryl calls, approaching me when I don't respond. There's more, there's more. Where are they? I know they're here. They're waiting for me to let down. I spin back around but there isn't one there. Why are they doing this? Why don't they just come out? They want to kill me - to end me. They want my _control_.

"Andy," Daryl repeats, grabbing my wrists.

"Let go!" I shout harshly, pulling against his hold, my knives dangerously close to breaking his skin. He _knows_ I don't like to be touched. He squeezes harshly until my fists open, freeing the blades. They clatter to the ground. "You son of a bitch, I need those! They're coming!" I'm defenseless now. No, no, no. Not again.

"Andy! Nothing's coming, they're dead! They're gone. We're safe." My breaths are short. He's lying, he has to be. But he looks so sure. How can he be? We were just attacked! Suddenly I'm tired. So tired. My adrenaline is gone and I'm left exhausted. The other four are eying me, full of concern. I probably look crazy to them. I'm supposed to be the leader.

"Let go," I say with false calm. Daryl looks doubtful but releases me anyways. I take a deep breath. "Lucy, take Anders and check the back door. If it's clear, take your post. Eddie, I'll go with you and check the front. Daryl," my eyes are unforgiving, putting in all the accusation I can muster, "sweep the rest of the store with Big Tom." I grab my knives and storm to the front - throwing caution to the wind stupidly. Luckily it's uneventful and a careful look up the street says no walkers heard us; we're in the clear. I leave Eddie at his post, ignoring his worried look, and grab a large utility cart. CJ, the prison's lead mechanic, gave us a list of wood, tools, and metals to get. Luckily the store is still well stocked. I'm worried about the mass of walkers we saw. My best guess is people tried to hole up here. They must've fell early before they could use the stock because I have no trouble picking up things on the list. Daryl, Big Tom, and Anders also have lists. I get everything on my list in no time and wheel the cart to the back. The wheels squeak noisily and I'm on edge. Please - _please_ - don't anything hear us. Out back I load everything into the truck, followed quickly by the other three.

"We good?" I ask. The other three nod - we have everything. But there are some side rooms inside I want to check out. They have to have first aid for on the job injuries and maybe even some food. I tell the others and they all seem to agree. I leave Anders out back with Lucy, tell Big Tom to retrieve our bolts and arrows from the dead walkers, and move through the side rooms with Daryl. We take out a few walkers trapped in offices but it's uneventful. I focus on our task, avoiding conversation. I'm still angry about yesterday. And then there was that horde not even an hour ago. What the hell was he thinking? I know he's good at runs but that was insane. We're lucky no one was bitten.

I find first aid kits in the break room as well as rotten food. I clear out the medical supplies - some bandages, standard painkillers, antibiotic ointments, etc - and grab my bag. Daryl has found some canned food in cabinets and we leave the room, not speaking a word to each other the whole time. He made a huge mistake but this isn't the time or place to address it.

Daryl takes the bags to the truck and I retrieve Eddie. We all load up and pull out. I lean my head back and squeeze my eyes shut for the whole ride.

Back at the prison I sigh and open my eyes, getting my bow ready. Daryl looks like he wants to say something but I jump out of the truck and clear the gate before he does. Back inside the safe walls we pull the truck to the car lot and unload. I see the bulk of biters at the fence and roll my eyes before heading inside. Safe. _Right_.

We drop off the tools to an ecstatic CJ. Rick saw us arrive safely and leaves us to ourselves. I praise the team and send them on their way; sure enough four of them go back to their cells to sleep. Daryl just stands there, arms crossed, face tense. I make eye contact and he turns, heading back to his room. Clearly he expects me to follow, and I do. As soon as we're alone he turns and confronts me.

"What do you want. You been glarin at me all day."

"Don't play innocent. You know why I'm angry." He rolls his eyes and lights a cigarette. He's still standing too close, invading my space in a subtle threat. The cigarette is just fuel for the fire.

"I know you've led runs. I know you know what you're doing. And I know you feel like I stole your job-"

"I don't think you stole my job," he interrupts, his voice raspy and exasperated.

"Then stop fighting me! I'm not trying to control you or drive you crazy but when I'm leading a mission I need to be able to trust my team!" I take a deep breath and check my patronizing tone. Daryl isn't the type who needs patronizing, he needs to face confrontation and logic and defiance. "I trust you. Honestly, you were one of the first people I trusted. Michonne only warmed up to me a month ago but I feel like we've been - well not friends, apparently. Clearly you don't trust me so I guess I'm not your friend. But we're, I don't know, acquaintances since our first run? But if you can't trust me to clear a room then we can't go on runs together." And with that I leave, return to my cell, and drop off my bow, off to find something to do.

* * *

**Thanks for reading so far! Views and visitors are nice because I know I'm not talking to no one, but reviews would be more reassuring ;) Okay, now that my standard R&R plea is over,**

**I have a request! I want to add some OC's to my story. Soooo, I was thinking you guys could help! Girl or guy, just shoot me a PM or review with their name/nicknames, appearance, and personality. You can go however in-depth you want whether it be backstory or otherwise - if you leave out something I need I'll improvise. No promises that I'll use your OC, but if I like it I will. Include in the PM/review if you want credit for you character and I'll be sure to give it to you, otherwise I'll probably forget.**

**Anyways, I know I said I wouldn't be updated till TWD started back but that NYE marathon made me want to write some, so I did. Don't count on any regular updates until TWD starts back though.**

**xox**


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